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MTKTLE 


LAWN. 




7U ' 2 - 

rji 


BY ROBERT E. BALLARI). 

M 

Op North Carolina. 




/ 



** Myrtle Lawn” is an, American romance of real life — a story almost of the pres- 
ent, so near to our time do the incidents occur. The narrative opens in Mexico, with 
the history of a patriotic family there, to xvhich Nora Lavine, one of the heroines of 
the tale, belongs by descent. The home-scenes of this romance, which are admirably 
presented, take place in a beautiful village in Maryland, in which three families 
reside, respectively named Melton, Evarts, and Lavine. The heads of these families 
are respectively two merchant princes, and Mrs. Lavine, the widow of a Colonel in 
the Confederate Army. There are two sons, Henry Melton and Horace Evarts, who 
form deep attachments to feannette Evarts and Nora Lavine. But, as ” the course of 
true love never yet ran smooth,'' the elder Mr. Melton, who has very ambitious views 
for his son, forbids him to associate any longer with Miss Evarts, whom he has known 
since childhood, and the younger Mr. Evarts, having become jecilous of Nora Lavine, 
leaves his native land in despair, and joins the Spanish army, then engaged in civil 
war, and greatly distinguishes himself in actual conflict. The crowning merit of 
“ Myrtle Lawn” will be found in the description of a battle-scene in Spain, during 
the Car list war. It is a panoramic painting in words, such as Scott or Macaulay might 
have dashed off in a happy hour of literary excitement. There is nothing of the sort 
finer in modern flction. The dialogues and correspondence in this tale are admirable, 
and tlu author’s stream of narrative is at once clear, strong, and rapid . — Critic. 



306 CHESTNUT STREET. 


? 2_2 
■IS ’2~\'2J>r 


copyright: 

1879. 




A1-AI. 


■ry 

o 


01 




TO 

GID BEANCH ALSTON, ESQ. 

OF 

WARREN COUNTY, NORTH CAROUNA, 

AS A 

MARK OP MY ADMIRATION FOR HIS QUALITIES AS A GENTLEMAN 
AND A scholar; AND AS A TOKEN OP MY GRATITUDE FOR 
THAT UNWAVERING FRIENDSHIP WHICH HAS ALWAYS 
PROVED STRONGEST WHEN MOST NEEDED, 

THIS WORK IS 

AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 

BY THE AUTHOR. 


Warren County, N. C., November^ 1879. 


Acthou’s Edition. 





CONTENTS. 

»♦ ♦ 

Chapter Page 

I. FATHER AND SON 23 

n. OLD FRIENDS 29 

in. RENEWAL OF LOVE 39 

rv. LEONINE LA VINE 44 

V. FATHER AND SON 56 

VI. A DARK REVELATION 62 

Vn. THE ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION 75 

Vin. A SNAKE IN THE GRASS 82 

IX. EVOLVEMENT OF THE PLOT 90 

X. SCHEMES AND JEALOUSY 98 

XI. APPEARANCES AGAINST HER 107 

XII. THE PATERNAL VETO Ill 

xni. A lover’s missive 118 

XIV. TRUST AND HOPE 127 

XV. INTEREST OBSTRUCTING LOVE 133 

XVI. FORESHADOWINGS OF FATE 141 

XVn. COMPLICITIES DEEPEN 149 

XVIII. AN UNWELCOME LETTER 161 

XIX. CURRENT COIN OF CONVERSATION 170 

XX. JPARENTAL PLOTS 182 


CONTENTS 


22 

Chapter Page 

XXI. SHATTERED HOPES 189 

XXn. A PASSIONATE PARTING 195 

XXni: HEROISM IN SPAIN 201 

XXIV. OLD SCENES REVISITED 208 

XXV. FATHER, DAUGHTER AND SON 223 

XXVI. HORACE EVARTS’ RETURN 233 

XXVn. IN LEGAL PRACTICE 241 

xxvni. A reprobate’s confession 248 

XXIX. A SUMMONS HOME 263 

XXX. RECALLED AND RECONCILED 266 

XXXI. CLOSE OF THE LIFE STORY 278 

xxxn. CONCLUSION 286 


MTETLE LAWN. 


!BY KOBEET E. BALLAED. 


Of North Carolina. ’ 


CHAPTER 1. 


FATHER AND SON. 



OD had smiled upon a vast nation of people, and 


vX blessed them with all that was great, glorious 
and good. Their domains extended from ocean to 
ocean, and from the lakes and mountains of the north 
to the far-away tropic climes, and to the southern 
gulf- streams. At one extremity, fruits ripened and 
fragrant flowers gladdened the senses; while on the 
other, ice glistened on the mountains and amidst the 
lakes. Their cities glowed with splendor and magnifi- 
cence. Their halls of learning were filled with the 
grand-est strains of music and oratory. Their homes 
were gushing with loves and joys, and wealth and 
happiness. Their rivers were plowed by palace -like 
steamers, and seas were white with their commerce, 
while their vessels were freighted with cereals, luxuries 
and comforts, for the teeming thousands of other lands. 


( 23 ) 


24 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


Alas ! this great and happy people forgot God. They 
lost sight of the Hand from whence this unbounded 
munificence flowed. They fell into all manner of 
excesses and evil indulgences — revelled in luxury, ease 
and sensuality; made idols of their Mammon and of 
their lusts, and found themselves floundering in a sea 
of materialism and infidelity; and — Crod smote them 
with the woes of a fratricidal war. The great sections 
of the South stood arrayed against the great sections 
of the North. Revolutionary guns battered the old 
Stars and Stripes, floating from the walls of Sumpter. 
The cry of battle rang from every hill and vale, and a 
million men sprang to arms. Brother betrayed brother ; 
father, son; and parents, children. From a thousand 
hills, ten thousand guns belched forth Are and death, 
and the flowers in a thousand valleys lost their tints in 
a hue more crimson. 

Men were maddened as the wild beasts of the forests ; 
and onward and ceaseless flowed the crimson tide. 
Cries of anguish went out from every household in the 
broad land. The young widow, with the sleeping 
babe at her breast, rained scalding tears upon its face, 
as she thought of the slaughtered father. The heart- 
broken mother bewailed in bitterness the death of her 
only son. Fathers bade adieu to prattling children; 
husbands, farewell to weeping wives, and — came no 
more. The tender, lovely maiden cast her arms around 
the lover’s neck, and, unblushing, gave the kiss that 
proved the last. On the field of slaughter, brother saw 
the bloody corpse of brother, and father turned pale 
and shuddered as he stumbled upon the upturned face 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


25 


of son, white in death; then hurried on to find his own 
reeking grave. Fields were laid waste, cities were 
burnt, homes were blighted, hearts were crushed, and 
an impenetrable pall of woe hung all over the land. 

Four long, interminable years ! What deeds of hero- 
ism that were never known ! What wails of sorrow 
that were never heard! Then men and women and 
children — powerless in the dust, and prostrate in 
despair — cried aloud in their misery ; and, lifting up 
their eyes and their hearts, and stretching out their 
hands to Heaven, implored help. Then God’s anger 
melted ; His wrath was turned to mercy, and He sent 
the white-winged angel “ Peace ” to spread its pinions 
o’er the bleeding land. God stayed the Nation’s flow 
of blood, and healed its wounds. 

* * * 
About ten years had flown since the beginning of 
that awful era, and nearly six since its close. A people 
that had shown valor in war, proved that they could be 
brave in peace. Where homes had been burnt, new 
homes were springing up. Where cities had been 
destroyed, new cities were being built. Business, 
industry, life and hope were being revived. Across the 
bloody chasm, brother was shaking hands with brother, 
and from the monuments that marked the resting 
places of illustrious Dead, faces looked calmly upon a 
land that was beginning to smile with peace and plenty. 
^ ^ ^ * 

In a stately -looking, brown -stone mansion, in a 
beautiful village, not many miles distant from Mary- 
land’s great business and commercial city, there lived a 


26 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


princely old merchant. He was a widower, and had an 
only child. Edwin Melton was a determined, worldly, 
business man, but he was one of the noble representa- 
tives of his type. He was rich. He owned large 
factories, was a heavy operator — and a successful one 
— in stocks and cotton, and carried on a commission 
business, which had its patrons from Pennsylvania to 
Louisiana and Texas. Edwin Melton was proud — not 
foolishly so — hardly consciously so. He was proud of 
his manhood ; proud of the position he so successfully 
maintained ; proud of the fortune which his own deter- 
mined will and efforts had built up about him — a 
fortune which not even the storms of war had shaken, 
and in which there was not a single dishonest dollar ; 
and above all, he was proud in his conscious self-reli- 
ance. About the theories of religion and immortality 
he never declared any decided views ; and it is strange 
that he did not, for he possessed no mean order of mind ; 
but the fact is, his ideas and tastes were so intensely 
practical, that he would not allow his mind to dwell 
long on any subject that he could not reduce by his 
regular rules of life. 

Edwin Melton was not miserly, nor stingy ; and, while 
he could not stop or stoop to look upon the ragged 
beggar that asked alms in his pathway, he gave freely 
and largely to institutions of charity or of learning. 
His ruling power was ambition. He loved his money 
because he knew it would help to pave the way to the 
height where he was determined the feet of his son 
should rest. We have said “ above all, Edwin Melton 
was proud of his own strength.” Aho^ all^ he was 
proud of his son. ^ 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


27 


When the dark shadow was cast over the lordly 
merchant’s heart and home, by the death of the fair, 
gentle creature who was the wife of his bosom, this 
boy’s bright face, radiant with beauty and intelligence, 
shed the first ray upon the gloom, and brought the 
first healing balm to the wounded spirit. His innocent 
prattle and musical laughter softened the sorrow that 
weighed upon the worldly man’s heart, and with little 
Henry about him, the poignancy of his grief was fast 
losing its sting, while he gazed into the sparkling eye 
and busied his mind in painting bright pictures and a 
glorious future for his son. 

In the meantime, the lad, too young to feel the deep 
loss he had sustained in the death of his gentle, loving 
mother, romped and scampered over the paternal 
mansion, or, with eyes dancing with fun and merri- 
ment, rode his wooden horse, or chased the fowls and 
fawns on the great green of Melton Mansion. 

Time passed on, and the boy grew up a bright, 
handsome, promising youth, with intellect sparkling in 
every feature, and with a soul like his mother’s — kind, 
amiable, generous; yet, at his early age, with the 
determined will and ambition characteristic of the 
father. The best instructors of youth in the country, 
were secured for his benefit, and the rapid progress he 
made and the facility he evinced in acquiring knowl- 
edge, verified fully the intellectual promise of his 
childhood. He was the pride of the old merchant’s 
heart, and the sunlight of his home ; and Edwin Melton 
would sooner have given up his untold wealth than his 
ambitious dreams for his son. 


28 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


Those ambitious dreams were outlined to him after 
he arrived at the age of sixteen, and was on the eve of 
his departure for a renowned college in England, in the 
following words : 

“Well, Henry, to-morrow you will leave for England, 
not to return until the expiration of your collegiate 
course, which will require three years. I shall miss 
you sadly, my son — yes, very sadly; but I shall be 
consoled in a great measure, by the reflection that you 
are preparing yourself to fill a high and an honorable 
position in life, and to act a noble part on the world’s 
wide stage. I shall be satisfied with no mediocrities. 
I want you to stand first among your classmates, as I 
expect you to be with the foremost among your fellow- 
men. I do not consider it necessary for me to warn 
you of the breakers whereon many a young man’s 
barque is wrecked ; for I give you credit for too much 
character and too much good sense, to suppose for a 
moment that you would suffer yourself to be led astray 
from the paths of sobriety and virtue. I do not wish 
you to squander money, but I do not wish you to stint 
yourself in its use. I will send with you, a letter of 
credit, on a House in London, and you can draw at 
your discretion. At the expiration of your college 
studies, I shall look for your return with intense pride 
and pleasure, and will expect to find in you a gentle- 
man and scholar, who will prove an ornament to any 
society, and fitted for any vocation or profession we 
may choose.” 


MTKTLE LAWN. 


29 


CHAPTER II. 

OLD FBIENDS. 

T hree years had just completed their last days. 

The fleeting time had brought no apparent change 
at Melton Mansion. The outwardly cold-looking, 
stately, old stone building, towering above the pretty 
and less pretentious cottages and edifices in the vicin- 
ity, seemed to be a fit emblem of the character of its 
lordly occupant. Edwin Melton’s business had con- 
tinued to prosper. Every plan and wish had come to 
fruition. His son, tall and handsome, full of buoyancy, 
health and hope, had just returned from the distant 
university, laden with honors that he had won. Edwin 
Melton was in the zenith of his pride and glory ; and 
if the question had been put to the robust, hale, well- 
preserved man of fifty-five, on that gushing spring 
morning, as he rode behind his dashing steeds, towards 
the city, “What else wilt thou have,” he would have 
been mute for an answer, whilst thousands of poor, all 
over the land were thanking God that their lots were 
no harder; were thanking Him for the morsel that 
stayed the hunger of pleading children, and for the 
hope that moved the arm for toil. Man, in his pride, 
and wealth, and luxury, in his egotism and self-reliance, 
never once thought of the hand from whence his good 
gifts came. 

Henry Melton was spending the first day after his 


30 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


arrival in re-familiarizing himself with things about the 
old Mansion ; responding to some complimentary notes 
and invitations; passing an hour or two in the high- 
walled library, filled with all manner of books ; wan- 
dering among the grounds about the building, and a 
little while at a lone spot, where a white marble tomb- 
stone glistened among the shrubbery down by the 
garden wall. As he bent his knee upon the vine- 
covered mound, an opening flower caught a falling tear. 
Many years before, a boyish hand had planted those 
flowers there, and they blossomed yet, on the mother’s 
grave. 

Later in the day, towards the approach of evening, 
as young Melton was leaning against one of the huge 
pillars that supported the great porch of the Mansion, 
his musings were interrupted by the approach of a foot- 
step. Turning, he had only time to rise and stretch 
out his hands, exclaiming almost joyously: “Horace 
Evarts, as I live ! ” Their greeting was cordial in the 
extreme. Horace Evarts appeared scarcely as old as 
young Melton. He was a tall, graceful figure, richly 
and tastily dressed, and generally of preposessing 
appearance. He wore rather long black locks, and the 
eyes which shone from beneath a high forehead, were of 
the same color, and sparkled with mischievous twinkle, 
or softened with a gentle lustre as he greeted his friend. 
Evarts, like Melton, was the son of a merchant, who 
did business in the same neighboring city, and the 
fathers of the young men had been close friends for 
very many years. They lived within half an hour's 
walk of each other, and the two sons had grown up 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


31 


from childhood intimately associated; and, as the 
years brought them to the dawn of manhood, their 
friendship had been cemented. As Melton had just 
returned the day previous, Evarts had not seen him 
before during the last three years. The feelings of 
the young friends after so long a separation, would not 
be hard to imagine. 

After spending nearly an hour in the most friendly 
intercourse, young Evarts arose, and, offering his hand, 
said : 

“ Henry, I must see you every day, but I have to go 
now. I hate to tear myself away, but I have an 
engagement to ride at five o’clock, and see it only lacks 
a few minutes to that hour. In addition to my own 
personal irrepressible desire to see you, I was prompted 
by my father to call and let you know that you are not 
forgotten at the ‘Lawn.’ Jeannette also sends her 
compliments, and all three say that we will listen to 
no excuse whatever, but will expect you to tea this 
evening.” 

“Really, Horace, I thank your father. Miss Jean- 
nette, and yourself, for this evidence of your kind 
regards and remembrance. Please tender my most 
respectful compliments to your father and sister, and 
say that I will respond with pleasure, to the invita- 
tion which does me so much honor. But pray, my 
dear fellow, what pressing engagement can it be that 
calls you so imperatively away from an old friend, that 
hasn’t seen you for years ? ” 

“Ah! Henry; that is a secret: — a secret, Henry, 
for the present, even for you,” and with a gay, good- 


32 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


humored “ good evening,” he bounded down the steps, 
and was gone. 

Horace Evarts, like Henry Melton, had not known a 
mother’s love since early childhood ; but grew up with 
amiable, gentle disposition, and possessed fair mental 
traits. As time passed, he grew into a gay, careless, 
handsome lad, with flowing dark hair, and a mischiev- 
ous sparkle in his black eyes, a popular favorite, and* 
young ladies’ “beau-ideal” of manly beauty. He was 
ever ready and witty, with a never ceasing flow of 
happy spirits ; was kind, unselfish, and always willing 
to sacrifice his own pleasure to that of those he loved ; 
with a nature warm and sociable, and generous to 
a fault. These traits were in common with both his 
parents. From his father, likewise, he inherited a 
spirit of indolence, rather than of energy, with a love 
of ease and high living ; and, while he had a fine sense 
of honor, and would die sooner than brook an insult to 
himself or friend, he inherited none of the pride of 
intellect or aspiring ambition that so positively charac- 
terized the head of Melton Mansion. If the two young 
men differed in this respect they had never discerned 
it; and, although they had been warm friends and 
almost constant companions, up to the period when 
they were separated on going to different colleges, they 
had never studied each other’s characters, and were 
hound by a common friendship and congeniality. After 
their long separation it was perfectly natural they 
should have been drawn together again by emotions of 
fellowship and sympathy. 

Young Evarts had an only sister ; a sweet, pure little 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


33 


girl of sixteen, with soft blue eyes and nut-brown 
braids. Her cherry lips were always wreathed with 
sunny smiles, and a pretty dimple was ever coquetting 
with the velvety cheek, where the color of the rose 
contended for mastery with that of the morning lily. 
Jeannette was a little beauty — simple, artless, child- 
like ; with a spirit effervescent, light and joyous, and a 
heart bounding in love to all the world, capable of 
mingling its purest sympathies with the wail of suffer- 
ing, as well as of responding to the sweet carols of the 
little birds that, singing their morning matins in the 
lilac at her window, awoke her from innocent dreams, 
to look on a world that, to her young soul, was as yet 
all beauty and melody and joy. Her nature was loving, 
dependent, confiding. Having no knowledge of the 
outward world, she was credulous without reserve; 
and her bright face, radiant with divine love and hap- 
piness, was the incarnation of innocence itself. Her 
mind was not so much on the order of the intellectual 
as of the angelic, and its chief characteristic was tender 
beauty, rather than dazzling brilliancy. Jeannette 
Evarts was a pure child of ‘the heart ; she never read 
much, or paled the freshening color of her cheek by 
poring over musty books, endeavoring to solve myster- 
ious problems, or gather knowledge from profound 
sciences. The lessons she learned were the lessons of 
nature. She would sit for hours gazing on the silvery 
moon, or the myriads of twinkling lights in the blue 
expanse, and through these wondrous works would 
look still higher to the great Omnipotent Hand that 
formed them. Or again, at early morn she would 
2 


34 


MYKTLE LAW:S, 


wander in the wide garden of flowers, her soul expand- 
ing with the love of nature, as she watched the bright 
god of day rising o’er the far-off mountains, and saw 
the glittering dew-drops grow to golden in the coining 
sunlight. She would listen to the chorus of the gay- 
plumaged songsters, and her own soft, warbling voice 
would respond in echo. She was the joy, the love, the 
life of her father’s heart, and the very sunlight of his 
home. Her voice, so soft and musical, dispelled the 
cares that his business would bring to him, and her 
gentle words, so full of tenderness and love, drove the 
gloom from his brow when the probability of mercan- 
tile disaster forced itself upon him. 

Henry Melton had not quite forgotten this little girl- 
beauty — the sweet friend of his early childhood’s ram- 
bles. Often during his college-life, when his mind 
would busy itself with memories of the past, the bright 
happy face of little Jeannette would rise up before his 
vision, and again he could hear the merry peals of 
laughter, that were as music in his ears, in other days. 
Or again he could see the long lashes of the downcast 
eyes, as they used to look when he twined roses in the 
golden hair. He had not forgotten the little maiden’s 
modest blush, as, when he had decked her as some fairy 
of the flowers, he took her soft little hand within his 
own, and, looking into the lustrous blue eyes, had 
called her his little “ Queen of love and beauty.” 
When he would awake from these pleasant dreamings, 
he would turn to the dull, dry books with a sigh, and 
“ Oh, Jeannette ! that I were only a child again, and 
could live over with you those bright days.” The 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


35 


visit of young Evarts called up many such memories 
vividly to his mind, and he fell to musing, and here are 
some of his thoughts ; 

“And I shall see thee again, Jeannette; bright little 
companion of my dreams, inspirer in my hours of 
lonely study. Thou did’st not forget the wild boy who 
chased with thee the golden butterfly o’er the lawn and 
flower beds, and who was never so happy as when 
watching your bright eyes sparkling with fun and mer- 
riment, or the golden hair dancing on zephyrs. Thou 
didst not forget the wild boy whose hands fashioned 
for thee the miniature ship and placed it on the silvery 
lake 4hat thou might’st be pleased. In all the long 
years of absence thou did’st still remember the little 
associate of thy blessed childhood, who was never 
happier than when wandering by thy side, listening to 
the music of thy gentle voice — a music sweeter far, 
I know, than the vesper bird’s voice, or the song of 
Paradise.” 

And now, while Henry Melton is dreaming, let us 
leave him to himself, and look in at “ Myrtle Lawn.” 
It was a most attractive and lovely residence, sur- 
rounded with the choicest beauties of Art and Nature, 
and furnished within with taste, elegance and richness. 
The floors were carpeted with the Very finest materials, 
and the paintings that hung from the walls were by the 
most celebrated artists. A long veranda or portico 
extended the full front of the building, with each lat- 
ticed end almost shut in by vines and honeysuckles. 
In front of the house a beautiful lawn, smooth as vel- 
vet, and shaded by the spreading branches of great tall 


36 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


trees, extended a hundred yards or more. In the rear 
was a magnificent garden of vines and fruit trees, shrub- 
bery and flowers, myrtle and evergreen. Beyond this 
was a beautiful little silvery lake or pond, and it Avas 
here that Jeannette loved best to wander, or sit on the 
mossy bank watching the wild flowers that grew upon 
the water’s edge, as bending beneath the gentle breezes 
they would kiss the crystal waves. 

In a spacious room, near an open window, which 
overlooked this scene of loA^eliness, sat Mr. Evarts in an 
easy rocking-chair. On the floor around him were 
newspapers, letters, etc., while on a small table at 
hand Avas an open box of cigars, and a small glass 
decanter half filled Avith wine. He was neatly dressed, 
and wore embroidered slippers. He was rather a portly 
gentleman, Avith a most kind and pleasant expression 
of face, and, though not an old looking man, he had 
evidently climbed to the top, and Avas going doAvn on 
the other side of the hill of life. Apart from his posi- 
tion, dress and surroundings, one would have judged, 
from his appearance, that, Avhile he Avas the soul of 
kindness and honor, he Avas not so full of energy and 
ambition as some men are, and Avas fond of ease and 
luxurious living. These characteristics had been so 
unmistakably impressed on his face that his expression 
might have been called “sensual,” had it not been 
modified and softened by an indescribable look of holy 
affection, Avith which he occasionally regarded a beau- 
tiful young girl Avho, standing at an open AvindoAv, 
gazed out upon the lovely scenery about her happy 
home. 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


37 


For several minutes Jeannette Evarts had been 
silently standing there. Suddenly she turned to her 
father and exclaimed : 

“ Oh ! dear papa, do come and look ! It is so lovely 
and beautiful. The great red sun is just sinking behind 
the hills, and his departing rays light up the mountains 
of clouds in the west until they seem like great golden 
castles. I have looked and looked, papa, until I have 
peopled them with images of my own creation. I see 
the doors and windows of one mighty turreted castle, 
and the giant lord that is master there : and I see 
many others about him, and he does’nt move kindly 
among them. Oh, papa, it looks so grand; but it 
doesn’t look so pretty and sweet as the flower garden, 
and the lake in the woods. And now the robin-red- 
breast in the great old poplar is warbling his farewell 
ditty to the dying day. Oh, papa ! God must have 
been so good to have made this world so sweet and 
pretty for us all.” 

“You are a dear little enthusiast, Jeannette. Your 
young heart is as innocent as it is happy, and I pray 
that God may always bless you, my darling daughter.” 

Jeannette stood by her father’s chair, and put her 
arm around his neck. The father resumed : 

“ I love to see my dear little girl admire the works 
of Nature, and be enthusiastic in her admiration of the 
grand and beautiful ; but she must not forget that all 
is not beauty in the earth : that in the path of every 
individual lie stern duties, and oftentimes painful reali- 
ties, sometimes great trials and griefs. It is our duty 
never to be altogether unprepared to meet them.” 


38 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


“ Papa, what great sorrows or trials can ever come 
to us?” 

“I hope none ever will come to you, my angel 
daughter,” and in spite of him, two big tears rolled 
down his cheeks. The gentle girl tenderly wiped them 
away. 

“ There, my pet ; you may go now. See, the evening 
shades are gathering, and your red-breast has hushed 
his twittering. Remember, in an hour from now young 
Melton will be here; and everybody says he is a 
talented lad; and Horace, you know, just told us he was 
even handsomer than three years ago. My little girl 
must keep a close watch over that little heart of hers, 
or else I may be supplanted.” 

A tell-tale blush was the only reply, and this was not 
observed in the thickening twilight. 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


39 


CHAPTER HI. 

RENEWAL OF LOVE. 

T WO months had passed since we left the happy- 
little family at “ Myrtle Lawn,” and summer was 
deepening into autumn. The flowers were fading, and 
their falling leaves were strewn o’er the garden walks. 
The water-lilies no longer dipped their heads into the 
crystal lake, whose bright surface was now covered 
with the yellow leaves from the grand old poplar. It 
was on a beautiful morning in this lovely season, that 
Jeannette Evarts leaned on the arm of Henry Melton, 
as they wandered through the golden-hued woodland 
that skirted the quiet lake, in the rear of Myrtle Lawn. 

For some minutes, they moved on in silence. She, 
the child of Nature, lulled as it were into a dreamy 
languor, by the soft, balmy skies above and the beauties 
around her ; he, looking on the drooping lid and the 
rose-tinted cheek of the fair one at his side, his heart 
swelling with admiration, and fluttering with emotions 
— the tenderest never yet spoken — was silent, lest he 
should call her from the realms of her happy musings. 

At last, they came to a picturesque and most lovely 
spot, where a little sparkling fountain gushed from 
beneath a great moss-covered rock, while its limpid 
waters made a soft, murmuring music, as it glided 
gently among the autumn leaves, and wended its way 
toward the little lake — its ocean. Above the rock, the 


40 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


honeysuckle had twined its branches, forming a perfect 
arch of a golden hue, while here and there, a wild 
flower of the woodland, blooming on the dying breath 
of summer, lent its beauty to the scene, and its 
fragrance to the morning air. Birds chirped cheerily 
in the shrubbery and squirrels frisked in the tree-tops. 
It was altogether a pretty picture, and as it broke upon 
Jeannette Evarts, she suddenly aroused from her 
dreamy silence, and, turning to her companion with an 
outburst of enthusiasm, impulsively exclaimed : 

“ Oh ! Mr. Melton, isn’t it a delightful place ! I 
could make this my home, and while my life away here 
on this green carpet of silky moss — with the golden 
archway above, the wild flowers blooming, and the 
birds singing above it, while the low ripple of this 
gentle streamlet, would lull me to sleep with its soft, 
gurgling music.” 

Then ashamed of this outburst of feeling, which 
found vent in the expression of such romantic ideas, 
she turned aside and hid her face, while the rose-color 
on her dimpled cheek deepened into scarlet. 

“Come, Jeannette, you need not blush. You are a 
pure, little child, of noble impulse and generous emo- 
tions. Such enthusiasm is not unnatural, and truly, 
your idea of making this lovely place your home, is far 
from being absurd ; for they tell me that the fairies live 
in such bowers, and if this be true, might be a fit place 
for you to dwell, for you are more lovely, Jeannette, 
than any fairy of my imagination, and your voice is 
sweeter than the voice of the birds whose singing you 
hear. But, come, be seated here, Jeannette, and let 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


41 


this be our home for just a little while, for I have a 
story to tell to Jeannette, and Jeannette will listen to 
me — I know she will.” 

With a timid, blushing look, and a downcast eye, she 
was led, unresisting, to the mossy seat beneath the 
golden roof of Nature’s handiwork. 

“Not many summers ago, Jeannette,” he began, 
“ two happy children were wont often to meet at noon 
or evening, and play together on a wide, green lawn, 
that lay in front of a stately residence. Neither had 
ever known a care or sorrow, and their hearts were as 
light and joyous as the songs of the birds which, 
unheeded, sang in the branches above. Almost daily, 
would this little couple be together, scampering among 
the flower beds, or chasing the butterfly over the lawn ; 
and when the twilight dews began to fall, this little bo}^ 
would run down the gravel walk, and away to his 
father’s house ; and dream of the little girl, and wish 
for the return of morning, that he might meet her 
again. Time passed on, and their childish affection for 
each other grew with its passing. About the lad, there 
was nothing particularly striking; but the little girl 
looked like an escaped angel.* She was fairer than the 
poet’s dream of beauty, and the music of her voice was 
sweeter than the warble of the birds that sang her their 
tribute. Their happiness, however, could not last 
always ; for now the lad must attend to his studies, and 
the little lady must have an instructress. Still they 
met sometimes, and it was always with smiles and 
kindly greetings. Still more years passed, and still they 
were the same warm friends. When, at last, the youth 


42 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


was ready to go to a distant college, to be absent for 
years, and presented himself at the young lady’s home 
to make his long adieus, she did not refuse him one 
good-by kiss, and a tear dimmed her eye as she gave it. 
The young man went away, and he studied diligently, 
for he had a proud, imperious father to please, and was 
himself not without ambition. He would get very 
tired and lonely at times, and then he would think of 
his former fair playmate, and her soft eyes would beam 
upon him with a tender lustre in his dreams. Some- 
times he would sit and think of her for hours, and 
wonder to himself if he were remembered. Then 
recollecting that his little idol was growing up to 
woman’s estate, and might probably forget him, and 
form new ties of affection before his return, he would 
sigh, and wish thkt the bright days had had no end. 
After long years of work and study, the college work 
grew to a close, and the youth returned to his home, 
having done his duty, and in a measure accomplished 
the purposes for which he went. Almost immediately 
he hastened to see her ; but he can never tell the feel- 
ings that crowded upon him as he entered the familiar 
grounds and walked up the avenue that led through 
the wide lawn, whose every feature told its happy little 
story of the past. He knows that, as he entered the 
sacred house, he was moved by stronger emotions than 
he had ever known. And he knows that when he 
heard her footstep, as she came to greet him, he lost his 
self-possession to a degree unusual to him. He knows 
that, when she approached him, he was so transfixed 
with delightful astonishment, so enraptured by the 


MYETLE LAWN. 


43 


picture of her angelic beauty, that he could utter no 
word of response, when, as she placed her little hand 
in his, she said, in a soft, low tone that thrilled his very 
soul : 

“ ‘ I am happy to see you again at our home.’ 

“ From that moment, he felt that his destiny was in 
her hands. He loved her with all the fervor of an 
impassionate youth, that had known no other love. 
Weeks glided into months, and though he frequently 
saw her, though often her companion in walks and 
attendant to various places of amusement or pleasure, 
he did not dare to breathe the love that filled his soul. 
So sweet and innocent, so artless and guileless, so 
lovely and like an angel did she seem, that it looked 
like a wrong to speak to her of human feeling, and ask 
her sympathy in a human passion. That young man 
to-day, Jeannette, is sighing for the love of the only 
being whose love can make him happy. If she can 
grant the boon he asks, life and love, and hope, pride 
and ambition, will all gain a new impetus, and earth 
will be be to him an Eden. Jeannette, my Jeannette 
— bright, beautiful star of my hope and of my des- 
tiny — you know the picture. Have you an answer? ” 

She looked up into his face, smiling through her 
tears, and while her own was irradiated with innocent 
love and unconcealed happiness, placed her soft, little 
hand in his, and nestled her head on his bosom. Just 
then, a pretty bird, in a woodbine near, sang his love- 
song in a low, sweet tone of pathos and melody.-* 

Let us drop the curtain, and turn our attention for 
awhile to other characters, who will figure in this, our 
humble history. 


44 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


CHAPTER IV. 


LEONINE LAVINE 


ORA, you know that I love you: that I have 



made an idol of you, and that you are dearer 
to me than every tie and every hope on earth beside. 
Since loving you as I have done, to lose you, darling, 
would be to make my heart a desert, and my life a 
failure. You have promised to be my bride ; you have 
promised that you would love me always. Upon this, 
I have staked my all. If aught should come between 
us, if any accursed evil should part us, Nora, hope 
would die within me, never to revive, and joy be a 
thing unknown to me thenceforth forever. More than 
all other living, earthly beings, you are the guardian of 
my destiny. Now, in view of this, I ask you, have I 
not a right to insist that you be governed by my 
wishes, in a matter of this sort? I know that you 
concede me the right, and now, once more, I imut that 
you see this man MacKenzie no more.” 

Horace Evarts spoke with earnestness and decision; 
but he grew nervous and excited, as his companion 
replied : 

“ Can it be, dear Horace, that you are jealous ? Can 
you not trust me ? Mr. MacKenzie does not come to 
me as % lover, but only as a friend ; and as such, he has 
a claim, not only to my sympathy, but most positively 
to my gratitude. To my sympathies, because he 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


45 


fought side by side with the father whose memory I 
adofe — fought with him in a cause which, though lost, 
was dearer, to one of them, at least, than his life. To 
my gratitude, for his timely assistance in rescuing me 
from the perilous position which my thoughtless indis- 
cretion had placed me, and for which I was about to 
pay the penalty, probably with my life. Mr. MacKen- 
zie, it is true, has been very attentive to me ever since 
the unfortunate occurrence ; but he has never discovered 
to me any other emotions than those of the purest, most 
disinterested friendship. 

“ You know that I love you, dear Horace ; and that 
upon this love I, too, have staked my all. You know 
that your happiness is mine. You know that I will be 
your wife. You know that I ask no higher or holier or 
happier lot in life. You know that it will be bliss to 
me to lean upon you — to take shelter in your love 
from the storms of life; to share my joys with you, and 
to bless you, if my holiest love can bless you. But, 
dear Horace, you will pardon me, when I say that I am 
inclined to think your suspicions in regard to Mr. 
MacKenzie, do him great injustice; and let me say that 
unless you recall your commands, my position will be 
embarrassing. How can I refuse to see him, under the 
peculiar circumstances ? ” 

“ Nora, your defense of this man drives me almost to 
madness. I have no ‘suspicions’ in the matter. I 
have ascertained what I know to be facts concerning 
this man, not only from a careful observation* of his 
conduct, but by a searching inquiry, instituted for my 
satisfaction and your good; and since you will force 


46 


MYETLE LAWN. 


me to speak, I will out with it. I know MacKenzie to 
be a gambler and a villain — a hanger-on to all the 
fashionable thieving hells that infest the country, from 
Maine to California. He is a sharp fellow; has trav- 
elled much, read a good deal, is well informed, and 
understands every phase and feature of man’s nature 
and character. He can adapt himself with wonderful 
skill and quickness, to any circumstances or conditions, 
and can read human nature and its emotions, as ex- 
pressed in the face, as you can read an open book. 
This power, together with his easy grace and polished 
manners, his smooth tongue and fine appearance, has 
been the instrument by which he has corrupted inno- 
cence, and accomplished all manner of nefarious 
designs.” 

The speaker anxiously and attentively regarded the 
young girl before him, who appeared one moment 
absorbed, and then said : 

“ Permit me to ask you one question, dear Horace. 
Are you quite sure that the party from whom you got 
your information, was not an enemy to Mr. MacKenzie, 
and, wishing to revenge himself for some fancied evil, 
did not purposely misrepresent his character, and his 
mode of life ? ” 

“ I know that the sources of my information are 
perfectly trustworthy; and I will vouch for the truth 
of what I have told you. I repeat, that MacKenzie is 
an unscrupulous villain, and I know that he hates me 
from his very soul, for the love you bear me. Do you 
remember the evening I met you down on the suburban 
walk, leaning on his arm ? He saw that I was hurt 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


47 


and mortified ; and, though I am no physiognomist, I 
could easily detect, beneath the bland smile of his 
cordial greeting, the malignant triumph he felt at my 
embarrassment. We are happy now, my Nora — happy 
in each other’s love, and we will be even still happier, 
dearest. But somehow, I even tremble at the bare 
mention of this man’s name. It is not that I doubt 
you, little darling, for I know that you are as good, as 
pure and as innocent as virtue itself ; but there seems 
to be an indefinable sensation of dread, and I feel that 
there is a slimy reptile creeping with his poisonous 
sting into our happy Eden.” 

“ Enough, dear Horace. You have nothing to fear. 
I shall immediately forbid him my presence. But how 
shall this be done? Will he not, as my father’s friend 
and comrade in battle, and the rescuer, probably, of my 
own life, expect some courtesy and kindness at my 
hands ? ” 

Horace Evarts looked upon his betrothed with some 
expression of compassion, but with feelings of ineffable 
tenderness, as he replied : 

“Poor little innocent credulity? Why, Nora, do 
you believe everything the base hypocrite tells you? 
His professions of sympathy and friendship, are to 
cloak the vilest designs. I doubt whether the reptile 
was ever even bn the soil of Louisiana, and I am almost 
sure he never smelt the smoke of battle; and even 
should he have that much to his credit, the chances are, 
as nine to ten, he was enlisted in the cause against 
which your honored and lamented father fought so 
nobly. This MacKenzie has heard of your father; 


48 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


knew that he was a gallant officer, under that old herO; 
General Taylor; heard of the manner of his heroic 
death; and, learning of the profound reverence and 
holy affection with which you cherished the memory 
of the martyred one, knew the key note of your 
sympathy.” 

“ I do not wish to hear more. I will do as you wish, 
and that without delay. But suppose after I forbid 
him my presence, he should persist in seeing me, and 
come to me unawares ? ” 

The young man’s eyes fairly blazed with excitement, 
and clenching his hands, he exclaimed : 

“ Then, by the gods ! I will pollute the earth with 
his heart’s vile blood ? When he comes, you just bid 
him once — only once^ Nora — ‘leave you.’ Tell him 
that / have asked and required it at your hands; and if 
ever he dares to breathe your name with his foul lips, 
if ever he dares to raise his eyes to yours, even in token 
of recognition again, let me know it, and the vengeance 
of heaven will overtake the cursed wretch sooner than 
he now imagines.” 

The young girl raised her eyes pleadingly to those of 
her lover, and taking both his hands within her own, 
said in a voice replete with tenderness : 

“ Oh, Horace, do not worry yourself any longer with 
thoughts of this man. Whoever or whatever he may 
be, I will trust him no more. Let not your deep love 
for me, nor your excited feelings, conjure up evils for 
the future; but let us love and confide in each other, as 
we have done in the past, and no dark shadows will 
ever come* over the brightness of our dreams, but all 
will be love and happiness.” 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


49 


“ You are my angel, Nora, and I love you with all 
my heart and soul.” And Horace Evarts folded the 
the maiden in his arms, and kissed her ruby lips. 

* * * * * 

We beg the forbearance of the reader, and ask liim 
for just a little while, to go back with us to a time far 
remote. 

About forty years prior to the period at which our 
history begins, there lived, in a town near the city of 
Guanaxuato, about two hundred miles north-west from 
the capital of Mexico, a wealthy and influential young 
Creole, by name, Lavine. Like a large majority of 
his class, he possessed fine natural talents, and a great 
desire, as well as facility, for acquiring knowledge. He 
was extremely mild and courteous in his manners, kind 
and benevolent towards his neighbors, and hospitable 
to strangers. 

Lavine, at twenty, found himself thirsting after 
wisdom, with a taste for all polite literature, the arts 
and the sciences. In the threatening political aspect of 
his own country, he resolved on visiting Europe, partly 
for the purpose of curiosity and pleasure, but chiefly 
because it afforded superior advantages for the comple- 
tion of his education. He studied the sciences in the 
most celebrated halls of learning, and his talents and 
his moral worth and his wealth, gained him easy access 
to the highest circles of European life. 

At the Court of Madrid, he met with the beautiful 
daughter of a Spanish nobleman ; and, struck with her 
exceeding beauty, impressed with her amiable mental 
traits, and captivated by her artless innocence, he paid 
3 


50 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


her his address, proposed for her hand in marriage, and 
was accepted. She must have loved him devotedly, 
for she married him in direct opposition to the ex- 
pressed wishes of all her friends, and in the face of the 
abandonment of large expectations. 

Lavine took his young bride to his home in Mexico ; 
and, though the Creole’s mansion was not so dazzling as 
the Spanish palace, it was yet brilliant enough, and it 
was resplendent with the light of love, which shed a 
warmth and lustre that the glitter of gold and gems 
could never do. For several years, this happy couple, 
surrounded by wealth and all the luxuries and comforts 
that it could purchase, their hearts beating with but 
one pulse, lived on in peace and bliss, without a single 
shadow to dim the brightness and beauty of their skies. 
In the meantime, there were born to them two hand- 
some boys, and the proud father felt that nothing was 
wanting — his cup of joy was full. 

Human happiness, however, never continues long 
uninterrupted, and doubtless it is wisely so ordained. 
Man was placed here to live for another life, and were 
his joys always perfect, he would, from the very nature 
of his being, forget the source from which his blessings 
flowed. The beautiful land of Mexico had long been 
periodically convulsed in the throes of revolution, and 
about this time, one of these bloody paroxysms shook 
the land. Lavine, full of chivalry, with an intense love 
of liberty, and a hatred of oppression, linked his fate 
and his fortunes with an insurgent band, who conceived 
the idea that they were to put down a cruel tyranny, 
and establish a purer government. Some thousand 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


51 


men rose in arms, headed by one of the most renowned 
men of the land, and Lavine followed, as one of his 
lieutenants. 

It is not our province, nor is it our pleasure, to follow 
the fortunes of the revolutionists. It is enough to say, 
that in a few months the whole band were dispersed or 
destroyed. The General and his Lieutenant, with 
many of their followers, were made prisoners ; fifty of 
them were executed on the field of action, and ten 
more, after hearing the decree for the confiscation of 
their estates, and the banishment of their families, were 
put to death a month later. Among these latter were 
the General, and his Lieutenant, Lavine. 

The young widow Lavine, after the tragic end of her 
husband, and the cruel decree of the Mexican author- 
ities, with a broken heart and a spirit crushed by the 
terrible blow, gathered together all the money and 
treasures she could, and quit the land of her husband’s 
birth. Knowing that he had relatives in the State of 
Louisiana, she went thither, and fixed her abode in the 
city of New Orleans. Notwithstanding the fact that 
all her lands had been confiscated in Mexico, she still 
possessed considerable means, and getting counsel from 
friends she found in her new home, managed her affairs 
well, conducted the education of her two sons judi- 
ciously and successfully, and lived to see them both 
nearly of age, when she died, honored and lamented, in 
the year 1853. 

Very soon thereafter, the elder son became of age, 
and went to Baltimore, in i\Iaryland, where he em- 
barked in business. The younger, then nineteen, 


52 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


entered a college in the city of Philadelpliia, for the 
purpose of learning the science of medicine. Leonine 
Lavine was hot-blooded, chivalrous and handsome ; and, 
more than this, he was - talented. He graduated with 
credit, in the usual time, and duly received his diplo- 
ma. Before returning to New Orleans, he accepted an 
invitation to spend a month or two with his brother, in 
Baltimore. While making that visit, in the spring of 
1856, young Leonine met the beautiful and accom- 
plished daughter of a prominent officer of the United 
States navy. By her beauty and acquirements, he was 
attracted to her. But it was the loveliness of her 
character, and the simplicity and purity of her life and 
tastes, that won him. He paid her all manner of 
devoted attention, and after a courtship of a month or 
two, she promised to be his wife. During the ensuing 
autumn they were married, and Dr. Lavine returned 
with his bride to his home in Louisiana. 

In a short time, he found himself well established in 
an extended and lucrative practice. He was not rich, 
but there was no spectre of poverty haunting him, and 
his home was supplied with every convenience and 
comfort. He was passionately fond of his young wife, 
and she was most devotedly attached to him. For 
several years their young lives flowed smoothly and 
tranquilly, and no sorrow came over their way. Du- 
ring this time, the young wife’s heart was gladdened 
and the husband’s pride elated, by the entrance into 
their sunny home of a sweet little child. Though the 
father was at first somewhat troubled that the little 
visitant was not a boy, who, in the years to come. 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


53 


might add a lustre to his name, he concealed all trace 
of his feelings from the gentle creature who leaned 
on him for love and strength ; and as time wore on, he 
forgot altogether his first ungrateful emotion, and with 
little Nora clinging around his knees and lisping his 
name, he felt indeed that he could not be more blessed. 
****** 

Then drew near the beginning of that dire epoch in 
our national history, the contemplation of which, even 
at this late day, causes the soul to shudder. For many 
years the storm had been brewing. The fires of an 
“irrepressible conflict,” fanned and fed by a score of 
fire-eating demagogues of the South, and a few cold- 
hearted, ungodly men of the North; fanned and fed by 
sectional rivalries, jealousies and hatreds — hatreds 
which were even shared in by the great churches of the 
two divisions; fanned and fed by the sinful excesses 
and riotous living of the people, and by the tendency 
of the times towards that condition of things which 
immediately preceded the most bloody and agonizing 
revolution that ever swept over beautiful France — 
were about to light into a blaze that should startle the 
world. 

The hot, southern. Creole blood that coursed the 
veins of Leonine Lavine, would not suffer him to be 
still; nor would his vehement, restless, impulsive 
nature permit him to be content with a position which 
guaranteed him almost perfect personal safety. Instead 
of acting in that sphere where lay his power of doing the 
greatest good, he threw his physic to the wind, and 
placing himself at the head of a hundred mounted 


54 


MYETLE LAWN. 


young men, hardly less daring and impulsive than 
himself, rushed impetuously to the front, and sought 
that part of the field where the danger was greatest. 
It was not many months before his dash and gallantry 
attracted attention, and he was placed at the head of a 
cavalry regiment. The months counted about a year, 
and Lavine and his command won a fame in the South 
and West, coequal with that of Mosby, in the moun- 
tains and valleys of Virginia. 

During all this time, the gallant Colonel saw his 
young wife and infant girl only twice. New Orleans 
fell into the hands of the Federal authority. Butler’s 
infamous order electrified with horror and disgust the 
whole Southern heart. It came to Lavine, and driven 
almost to frenzy, he determined to see his wife and 
child, and take steps to have them removed to a place 
of greater safety and quiet. After much danger and 
difficulty, he succeeded in getting within the limits; 
spent a week of undisturbed happiness with his beloved 
wife and darling little girl; and after communicating 
with his brother in Baltimore, and arranging for him to 
come immediately to New Orleans and carry his family 
back with him, made his preparations to rejoin his 
regiment. 

The parting between him and his young wife and 
child, was tender and touching in the extreme ; but he 
felt that they were safe from all harm and danger, and 
this assurance relieved his mind of its greatest burden. 
As for his own perilous situation, he thought little. 
His sanguine, brave nature saw nothing but success 
ahead. It whispered to him of a time not far distant, 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


55 


when peace would be restored, and the cause for which 
he fought, be proudly victorious. He had happy vis- 
ions of a most blissful reunion with his darling loved 
ones, of a career of usefulness and happiness, of long 
years of joy and love. Oh, that the siren’s voice had 
proved prophetic! Oh, pity! that the brave, noble, 
loving young heart was so soon to have its pulses stilled 
in death ! Pity, oh, sad pity ! that the fond, tender heart 
of the beautiful, young wife was so soon to be torn and 
lacerated ! Pity, oh, pity ! that despair was so soon to 
take the place of hope — that the prayer of love was to 
be hushed in the wail of anguish ! 

Col. Lavine never succeeded in getting back through 
the lines. He was taken, tried hurriedly and irregu- 
larly by Court Martial, as a spy, and having had 
some indiscreet letters and papers found on his person, 
from parties in New Orleans, to their friends in Col. 
Lavine’s regiment, he was condemned, and shot to 
death without a day’s delay. No braver or nobler 
heart, in all those years of murder and ruin, shed its 
blood on the altar of country, than was shed that day. 
Thus died Colonel Leonine Lavine, the father of the 
“ Nora ” of our story, who was the betrothed of Horace 
Evarts. 


66 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


CHAPTER V. 

FATHER AND SON. 

T REPEAT, Henry, that this is not only unexpected, 

X but very unpleasant news to me. You might at 
least have consulted me before making any such 
rash engagements.” 

“ You persist, father, in calling it a rash engagement, 
I tell you that my attachment for Jeannette Evarts is 
the growth of years. It began when we were mere 
children, and as our years advanced it ripened into a 
profound affection. During my long stay at college 
she was often present with me, and the melody of her 
voice was the music of my dreams. The memory of 
her sweet face shed a blessed influence o’er my way, 
and when the tempter would allure me from the paths 
of virtue to the scenes of dissipation, the recollections 
of my childhood’s days with little Jeannette, would 
rise up before me with their innocent joys, and point 
me to a higher happiness, and inspire me with the 
noblest aspirations. It never once occurred to me that 
you would refuse your sanction to my choice. I did 
not consult you, because I did not think it was neces- 
sary. I flattered myself that you would be pleased 
with the alliance, for I know that Mr. Evarts was one 
of your earliest and dearest friends. You cannot 
object, I am sure to his family, for it is equal in point 
of social position, if not in wealth, to our own ; and 


MYRTLE LAWN. 57 

even if it were otherwise, I could not now retrace my 
steps.” 

“ You do not understand me, my son. I do not mean 
to say that I will never consent to your marriage with 
Miss Evarts, for it is possible that I may he reconciled 
to it, if, after your law studies are completed, you still 
continue to think that your happiness will depend upon 
the connection. It is true, as you observed, that Mr. 
Evarts and myself have been warm friends for very 
many years ; and I know of no sweeter and more amia- 
ble little girl than his daughter. She is evidently the 
very embodiment of artlessness and innocence; but 
without any brilliancy of intellect would not these 
qualities become tiresome and insipid to an aspiring 
and ambitious mind ? Mr. Evarts also occupies a sta- 
tion in society in no wise inferior to my own ; and it is 
possible his wealth may be nearly equal ; though I 
notice of late years he gives little or no attention to 
his affairs, and I fear that his fondness for wine is 
rapidly increasing with his age. Evarts’ first wife was 
a magnificent woman, and from one of the first families 
in Virginia. His second wife, the mother of Jeannette 
and Horace, lives over again in the form, face and 
character of her daughter. Evarts met her accident- 
ally, and he, being of rather an impulsive and romantic 
disposition, with less pride than a man in his walk in 
life ought to possess, married her ; though she was poor, 
unknown in the first circles of society, and doubtless 
could not trace her family two generations back.” 

“ You surely do not mean to imply, father, that there 
is anything discreditable in this to Jeannette. The 


58 


MTETLE LAWN. 


want of ancestral honors could be no reproach even to 
her mother. There is as much true worth, perhaps 
more, to be found in the middle classes of society as in 
the highest order ; and while I would not go beneath 
me to search for it, yet had I been situated as Mr. 
Evarts was, and happened on a beautiful gem, I should 
have stooped — if you prefer the word — to gather ; nor 
would I have been deterred by my false notions of 
pride and aristocracy.” 

‘‘We will not speak of this at present. You are 
young, Henry, and ypu are governed now less by rea- 
son and sober judgment than by impulse and a gener- 
osity natural to your age. Far be it from me to reflect 
on Mr. Evarts, or any member of his family. I am 
their friend, and the expression of any unkind senti- 
ment would be indeed foreign to my feelings. I repeat, 
that I may not oppose your marriage with Miss Evarts, 
if, after long deliberation and calm reflection, you still 
think the union essential to your happiness. I love 
you much, my son; but my ambition is only second to 
my affection. It has been the only dream I have cher- 
ished since your blessed mother was taken from me. 
When I looked in your eyes, as you sat on my knee, a 
little curly-haired child, I began my buildings for you. 
Ever since, to see you at some future time occupying 
one of the highest position that this country can offer, 
honored throughout the land, has been the one great 
hope and aim of my existence, the one great study of 
my life and the lever of all my efforts. With your 
fortune and your talents, your fine appearance and 
polished education, you can, by a proper course of con- 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


59 


duct, many almost any woman in this great nation. I 
liad hoped to have formed for you a far more desirable 
alliance, and thus further and facilitate my aims. 
There is Miss Ellen Glenn more, the beautiful, talented 
and accomplished daughter of one of the very first 
men in this country. He is honored every where, and 
his influence is felt all over this broad land. He has 
been a spendthrift, however, and his pecuniary affairs 
are in a very unsettled and unsatisfactory condition. 
Knowing my immense wealth, and your mental and 
moral worth, I have no doubt, in fact, I have the tacit 
but positive assurance, he would listen favorably to any 
proposals from me, and would willingly give you the 
hand of his daughter in marriage. Were this alliance 
formed, you could, with your money and your merits 
and with his almost unlimited influence, rise to any 
position to which your aspirations would point.” 

“ Father, I too have ambition. It is one of my high- 
est purposes to climb to an honorable eminence, and 
stand above the common masses of mankind. I long to 
reflect credit and lustre on our name ; but it must be 
done, if done at all, by honest effort, strict integrity, 
mental and moral worth, rather than by intrigue. And 
I would not to-day turn from the gentle Jeannette, and 
pronounce false vows to another, to be the greatest 
potentate of earth.” 

“ I would not have you pronounce false vows, my 
son. Being in the first flush of youth your idea of 
love is romantic; and the pictures your imagination 
paints of sentimental love and married life are too 
highly colored, and overwrought. As you grow older 


60 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


and mingle more with the world you will have less of 
the couleur de rose in your notions of love matters, and 
will see that it were better to mix a little of the pla- 
tonic and politic with the passionate. It will not be 
long before you will have to be absent several months 
to complete your law studies. After a short absence 
and close application to books, you will no doubt forget 
this boyish dream, and will be glad enough to accept 
the hand of the brilliant and lovely Miss Glennmore.” 

“If you hope that my feelings, father, for dear Jean- 
nette will ever change, you will certainly be sadly 
disappointed. I feel it my duty to you and to myself 
to make known my sentiments and my convictions; 
and with all deference for your opinions, and with the 
most profound respect for your feelings, my father, I 
tell you now and forever that, knowing Jeannette 
Evarts as I know her, and loving Jeannette Evarts as I 
love her, I would rather marry her in a sewing-house in 
New York^ than wed the proudest daughter of the highest 
nobleman in all England^ even though her brow was 
decked with a jewelled diadem^ 

“Boy, you are out of your head. You know not 
what you say. I will not listen to such a silly tirade. 
We will talk no more of this matter at present. Please 
ring and order Merriman out with my horses. I must 
ride into the city.” 

In a short time the old merchant -prince was seated 
in his velvet -cushioned carriage, and the door was 
about to be closed when his son stepped up to bid him 
good day, and said : 

“If my language was not respectful to you, my 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


61 


father, or if I manifested any spirit of wanton rebellion 
against your wishes, I trust you will forgive me. I 
have always tried to be obedient, and it has been my 
study to please you. I will ever do so, provided I do 
not compromise my integrity or the happiness of one 
who is dearer to me than my life.” 

The father and son shook hands and parted for the 
day. 


62 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


CHAPTER VI. 

A DARK REVELATION. 

M rs. col. LAVINE never returned to New 
Orleans. She and Nora, her little daugliter, 
continued to live with the brother of her dead hero 
husband until the close of the war, when he, Eugene 
Lavine, went South ; and gathering up all the remnants 
of the effects of the lamented one, returned to his home 
in Baltimore. At her request he bought for her a 
sweet little cottage in a most picturesque location, just 
beyond the outskirts of the town, in which resided 
already some of the principal characters who have 
figured thus far in our little history. Thither, very 
soon after, she and her little girl — then a beautiful 
child of seven or eight summers — moved. 

If any thing could have softened the sorrow, if any- 
thing could have mitigated the anguish which the 
young widow felt at the continually recurring memory 
of the sad fate of her noble and loved lost one, the 
winning graces, the perfect beauty, the tender love of 
this dear little girl would have done it. If any home 
on earth could have been as beautiful to the young 
widow’s heart as that dear home which she was forced 
some years before to abandon, that never to be forgot- 
ten home, in which, with the lost idol, she had passed 
her young love’s dream, the sweet home she now occu- 
pied would have been. If the affectionate and compas- 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


63 


sionate attention, and the devoted sympathy and 
kindness of any living being could have proved an 
antidote for the poison of her grief, it would have been 
furnished in the unvarying kindness and considerate 
attention of the surviving brother of her dead hero. 
All these combined blunted the sting of her grief, but 
nothing would ever quite remove it. She also had an 
additional cause of mourning. Her father, (who as we 
have shown, was an officer in the United States Navy, 
when she married a few years previous to the beginning 
of the great internecine struggle) received a wound 
while gallantly doing his duty in a naval engagement 
with Confederate forces, and died in Baltimore not long 
before the close of the war. He left a merely nominal 
estate, which in all consisted of only two or three 
thousand dollars. This amount, as a matter of course, 
was inherited by Mrs. Col. Lavine, as she was an only 
child. 

Eugene Lavine did not continue many years in Balti- 
more after he had seen his sister-in-law pleasantly 
established in her cottage home, and so arranged her 
financial matters that there was scarce a possibility of 
her ever coming to want. Finding the enterprise in 
which he had embarked in that city not as prosperous 
as he had anticipated, and not promising any imme- 
diate lucrative results, he resolved to return to Louis- 
iana. He had not been in New Orleans very long 
when he wrote to his sister-in-law, stating that ‘4n 
view of the great social and political changes which 
had occurred in Mexico since his father’s tragic end 
and the banishment of his mother and her children. 


64 


M Y K T L E LAWN. 


and in consideration of some inviting prospects which 
had been lately held out to him by friends there, he 
should soon leave New Orleans for the old home of 
his birth, and would probably permanently establish 
himself there.” 

So, Mrs. Lavine and little Nora were left quite alone 
in the world. In the very nature of things, however, 
it was impossible that she should continue miserable. 
Her home was all that her heart could wish. The 
loveliness of her dear little daughter was being 
enhanced by the passing time ; and, above all, her own 
soul was expanding under the influence of that divine 
religion which shows to its believers light and hope, 
when to others there might be nought but despair. 
The young widow could never forget Leonine Lavine. 
From her heart would never be erased the memory of 
his noble form, his faithful love, and his tender devo- 
tion ; but she thought of him now, not with a painful, 
but a holy sorrow. Her life was growing happy in its 
serenity and holiness. 

Elmwood afforded a pretty picture with its flower- 
embosomed cottage, its graceful elms, and neat shrub- 
bery ; its lemon, orange and oleander trees ; its palms and 
agaves ; its cycads and chrysanthemums. From the 
little white gate by the arbor of honeysuckles a shining 
pebble way led to the cottage entrance. There were 
also, close by, some lovely promenade grounds, and a 
romantic walk leading towards a stream of water that 
flowed through a small forest of tall maples, oaks, 
and hickory. Among the undergrowth of this grove 
there were interspersed endless varieties of clustering 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


65 


vines, and quantities of wild flowers. It was down by 
this wood, some two years prior to the period at which 
our story begun, and four years after peace had settled 
upon the land, that Horace Evarts, in one of his boy- 
hood’s rambles, first met little Nora Lavine. 

She was then only twelve years of age, he was some 
three years her senior. After a little lapse of time 
they managed to meet frequently, until their acquain- 
tance, so romantically formed, ripened into a warm 
friendship ; and as young Evarts became an almost 
daily visitor at Mrs. Lavine’s beautiful cottage, this 
friendship developed a warmer feeling. The happy 
young couple never troubled themselves to analyze the 
sympathy that was binding them together, and no word 
of love was spoken between them ; but it is none the 
less true that, when Horace was sent off by his father 
to college, to be a year or two absent, he sorrowed 
more at parting with Nora Lavine than te did at leav- 
ing his gentle sister : and just so true it is that Nora’s 
eyes were dimmed with tears as she bade him good-by, 
and her strolls were not half so frequent after he left. 
Time rolled on, and months hurried by until more 
than enough to make a year had passed, when Horace 
Evarts came back. He delayed not long in going to 
Elmwood cottage ; and Nora’s happy face, grown still 
more beautiful in the early dawn of womanhood, 
brightened as he came. Whether he met with success 
in the renewal of his suit, the reader already knows. 

At the same hour that his conversation with Nora 
was going on there were seated in a room in a hotel in 
Baltimore, two gaudily-attired men, each apparently 
4 


66 


MYETLE LAWN. 


about tbirty-two or three years of age. One wore a 
massive gold ring with a showy setting, the other a 
heavy pin in his shirt-front, studded with diamonds. A 
box of cigars, and several half-emptied decanters were 
on a table before them, and both looked as if they had 
been drinking freely. From the conversation that 
passed between them, a more correct estimate of their 
qualities and character can be arrived at than from any 
regular delineation. 

“ MacKenzie, let us replenish : — there ! And now I 
drink the health of the little Venus, whom I saw the 
other everiing leaning so confidingly on your arm, as 
you promenaded the walk leading to that pretty white 

cottage on the suburbs of . And while I drink to 

her happiness, I want you to tell me who she is, and 
what fortunate chance threw her in your way.” 

“ Ah, Charlie ! she is a perfect gem, a real unsophisti- 
cated little innocent. She knows no more about the 
world than a new-born babe. She is quite young, just 
blooming into womanhood, and is as fresh and efferves- 
cent as this sparkling wine. The soft dark eyes beam 
with a languid lustre, and the cherry lips seem always 
asking for a kiss. Don’t you think her a prize worth 
winning? And now, honestly, Charlie, what would 
you give for my chance ? ” 

“MacKenzie, don’t tantalize me. What would I 
give ? Why, my winnings for the next three months. 
But where is her father that he. allows such freedom 
from a stranger ? ” 

“ Her father ! Why, my dear fellow, my knowledge 
of him is my key to her sympathy. Her father was 


MYETLE LAWN. 


67 


colonel of that famous Confederate regiment of cavalry 
from Louisiana, which played such havoc with our 
forces out in the southwest during the rebellion. He 
had been married only a few years previous to the war, 
and lived in New Orleans. He left his wife and little 
daughter there when he went into the rebel army ; and 
there they were when New Orleans fell into the hands 
of our forces. Soon thereafter, when the Southern 
heart was bursting with impotent rage over the order 
of Butler about the New Orleans women, this hot- 
headed, dare-devil Creole Colonel conceived the precious 
idea of coming through the lines into the city with the 
view of removing his wife and child. He came. He 
was too well known, and too dangerous, ever to be 
allowed to get back to his cursed band of guerillas. 
Through the treachery of one of his supposed friends, 
sealed letters, containing what purported to be damag- 
ing information and treasonable utterances, were given 
him to be taken back to his regiment, and when he was 
captured in trying to get back, those papers, found on 
his person, helped to convict him of being a spy. He 
lived but one hour after his conviction. I had an elder 
brother — killed subsequently — who was an officer in 
our army, who was one of the few officers who sat on 
the court that tried him. I myself was in New Orleans 
at the time, and heard from my brother’s own lips the 
manner of his death. Six men only were appointed to 
execute him, and at the order of the officer in charge 
he marched boldly out and took his stand, ten paces in 
their front. When they offered to bandage his eyes, 
he bade them, authoritatively, to desist, saying in a 


68 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


tone of fearless defiance : ‘ I want to look at the cow- 

ards when they shoot an unarmed man, whose only 
crime is an honest effort to free his country of a vil- 
lainous oppression, and to remove his wife and child 
from a city under a control so obnoxious.’ He stood 
uncovered, and with his black locks dancing in the 
breeze, a smile of triumphant scorn curling his lip, and 
his dark eye beaming a cold, stern defiance, he looked 
the picture of heroic beauty in his unbending, unyield- 
ing stubborness. The six soldiers showed that they 
hated to shoot him; and when the order was given, 
‘ ready, aim,’ the eyes of the riflemen, and those of the 
condemned met ; and, what is wonderful to be told — 
the muzzles of six rifles dropped to the ground. My 
brother swore to me that he never witnessed anything 
to equal it, and that he never saw such a look of 
derision and exultation as that man’s face exhibited. 
Again the command was given, ‘ready, aim, fire.’ The 
only words that ever escaped him were ‘ my wife, my 
child.’” 

The speaker’s companion listened attentively during 
this recital, and when it was finished, said : “ It was 

not right to kill such a man. He should have been 
spared.” 

“ You know not what you say,” returned the other, 
“he was a traitor; and, though you know I am no 
patriot, and care most for the country where I can win 
the most money, still I gloried in the death of this 
stubborn Creole.” 

“With such feelings towards the father,” asked the 
one called Charlie, “ how can you hope to interest the 
girl in your favor ? ” 


MYRTLE LAWN 


69 


“ Do 5^011 suppose that I am fool enough to express 
such sentiments in her hearing? No indeed. She 
believes that I fought in the same cause and on the 
same fields with her father, and that I had a brother 
who met a fate not very unlike his. She cherishes her 
father’s memory as something sacred, and her eyes will 
often fill with tears at the sound of his name. Believ- 
ing all that I ever told her, she feels a very natural 
sympathy for me, and it is in this manner that I work 
on her feelings.” 

“ But, MacKenzie, you have not yet told me her 
name, and, what is more important, how you found her 
out and became acquainted with her ? ” 

“Your first question is easily answered. Her name 
is Nora, this is enough. As to the other part of your 
question it will take me a longer time to satisfy you. 
Listen and you shall have it. Before I proceed, how- 
ever, let us fill up again, for I am getting very dry.” 

“ Good enough ; and now that we are ready. I’ll give 
you a toast. So here goes to you and your pretty 
friend ; a blissful combination, which might signify an 
early yield and a rich harvest. How do you like that, 
old boy?” 

“ Capital ! the harvest would be rich enough, for the 
fruit is luscious, but about the yield, I am afraid it will 
not be so early as I might wish. I have a delicate part 
to play, and the girl can be firm when she will ; besides 
there is a lover in the way, who is in real earnest, and 
to whom she has pledged her hand in marriage. He 
suspects me. I can see it in him ; and I don’t like his 
looks much. He is evidently a kind-hearted, easy sort 


70 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


of a fellow, but he’s got the devil behind it all, and I 
wouldn’t like to trust him if he should get stirred up 
much. However, I’m digressing. You wanted to 
know how I became acquainted with her. Well, I 
happened to be down in the village where she lives, 
about six or eight weeks ago on a little professional 
business : in other words to see and form the acquain- 
tance of a dashing young Mississippian, who came up 
here to receive a sum of money that had been left him 
by a recently deceased relative. You know I only 
wanted to take him around the city and show him its 
sights, so that his stay in this section might be as 
pleasant as possible. When I got to the village I learned 
that the fast young gentleman had just gone into the 
country to visit some relations, and would not be back 
for three or four days. Having no pressing business 
here or elsewhere, and having a pretty full stock of 
funds in hand, I concluded to spend the few days in 
the village until his return. I had been lounging about 
my hotel, nearly all of the second day after my arrival, 
and was beginning to grow weary of the dullness and 
monotony of the place, when it occurred to me that a 
stroll through the village and around its suburbs might 
afford some recreation. So, inviting a resident of the 
place with whom I had been conversing (a good silly 
sort of a fellow) to drink wine with me, and puffing 
him up a little, I got into his favor so far that when I 
proposed a walk he readily assented, and seemed flat- 
tered with the privilege of accompaning me. We 
rambled about for an hour or so, and was on the point 
of returning, when I beheld a beautiful young girl 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


71 


before us, leaning on the arm of a tall, handsome lad. 
We were moving very slowly, and I had a good oppor- 
tunity of noticing all that passed, and studying the 
girl’s face. I saw in a moment that she was perfectly 
artless and innocent, and withal a model Hebe in appear- 
ance. As we met, she raised her eyes and saw that I 
was gazing full upon her with looks of intense admira- 
tion. In a second her eyes fell beneath my ardent 
gaze, and a crimson blush mounted her face. They 
passed on, and in an indifferent manner, I interrogated 
my companion about the couple we had just seen. He 
informed me that the young lady’s name was Nora; 
explained who her father had been; said that she 
appeared but little in society, and was seldom seen 
except in her walks, and that these were mainly con- 
fined to the grove of maples and elms near the pretty 
cottage, where she and her mother lived alone. That 
the young man who was with her, was the son of a 
wealthy merchant of the place, who carried on his 
business in Baltimore, and that his name was Evarts. 
‘ And is this young man her constant attendant in her 
walks,’ I asked. ‘Oh, no!’ he replied, ‘but he is the 
favored suitor for her hand, and is often with her, 
though she is sometimes seen quite alone in that wood 
yonder, or down by the cliff, or where the flowers and 
vines grow on the stream through there.’ This was, as 
you imagine all I wanted to hear, and I resolved that 
after I disposed of the other affair, to return and acci- 
dentally meet this pretty rambler, and trust to fortune 
for an introduction. That fortune proved most propi- 
tious, as you will directly see. But let us return to my 


72 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


Mississippi friend. The next day was the one on which 
he was to come back. Come he did in due time. I 
played my part well, and in two days had worked 
myself so cleverly into his good graces, that he agreed 
to stop a day or two with me in the city.” 

“ Of course you did not let him get off safely with 
all his legacy ? ” 

“No indeed; hut I had my nerves really shocked by 
the sad termination of the affair. The poor fellow lost 
every dollar he had, except some hundred or two, and 
he was so maddened with his folly and misfortunes, 
that he went into a great drunken spree, and at the end 
of a fortnight was dead, from ‘ mania a potu.’ ” 

“ Too bad ; what was the amount of his losses ? ” 

“ Some eight thousand dollars, I believe.” 

“ A pretty good haul, but I would not be in your 
boots for your share of the amount.” 

“You are a fool and a coward, Charlie; but hand 
over that fresh bottle, and let us drink again the health 
of my little heroine.” 

“ I’m drunk now, nevertheless here’s her health, and 
may her loveliness never be wasted on one who has not 
the delicacy to appreciate it.” 

MacKenzie cast a searching look on his compan- 
ion, for his language was ambiguous, but there was 
nothing in his face to excite his anger or suspicions, 
and MacKenzie resumed : 

“After the Mississippi affair was settled I returned 
to the village. For several days did I seek in vain to 
get another glimpse of my pretty Nora. In vain did I 
frequent the neighborhood of her accustomed walk, 


MYRTLE LAW^. 


73 


when one evening, as was my wont, I wandered down 
towards the grove near which I had met her. It was a 
most beautiful and delightful evening, and as little as 
I care about the inanimate beauties of nature, I felt 
impressed by the peculiar loveliness of the landscape. 
After wandering about a while I grew tired; and, 
throwing myself on a little green mound near the gurg- 
ling stream, was soon lost to myself. I did not remain 
long, however, in this mental lethargy; for soon I 
heard a low, sweet musical voice trembling on the 
quiet summer air, and scarcely raising myself, lest I 
should be discovered, I peered through the vines and 
bushes, and lo ! I beheld the little beauty, fairer than 
when I first met her. She was slowly moving on 
towards the stream, and seemed intent on gathering 
flowers. These she carried in her little apron, until at 
last she sat down on a mossy bank, beneath a large 
shade tree, and busied herself weaving a garland. I 
watched her for several minutes, and was on the eve of 
discovering myself to her, when, as if moved by some 
sudden impulse, she arose and hastened towards the 
bank of the stream, where grew some beautiful wood- 
bines. The flowers, however, hung over the water’s 
edge, and it was dangerous to reach for them. She 
did not seem to see or regard the danger ; for, catching 
hold of a branch, she leaned forward and stretched 
forth her hand to grasp them. Her hand was almost 
upon them when the vine she clung to for support gave 
way, and in a moment more she was struggling with 
the current. You know, Charlie, the water is my ele- 
ment. I rushed forward, plunged in, and grasping her 


74 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


in my arms, in a minute had the frightened fawn safe 
on the bank.” 

“ By the ace of hearts, MacKenzie, you are a lucky 
fellow. You could not have had a more auspicious 
introduction.” 

“ Certainly not. As soon as she sufficiently recovered 
from her fright, we moved offi for her abode, which was 
less than half a mile away. We exchanged few words 
during our brief walk. When I bade her good even- 
ing at the little gate of her cottage yard, she begged 
that I would call on her the following morning, that 
her mother and herself might express their thanks for 
my timely assistance. I told her that I esteemed myself 
most fortunate in that I had been the means of serving 
her ; and that, while I did not deserve or want any 
thanks, I should be most happy with her permission to 
call in the morning to assure myself she suffered no 
indisposition from her embarrassing accident. Of course 
I called, and I found her looking as bright as a rose 
and as tempting as a ripe peach. Ever since I have 
been admitted as a friend ; and, though I have to be 
very careful, and have a nice part to play, I am making 
progress, and think I have her entire confidence, which 
you know, my boy, is half the battle.” 

Let us turn from this faithfully delineated, but none 
the less disgusting, picture of moral depravity and 
villainy. We have lingered too long already, it may be, 
in its contemplation, but painful as it has been, our 
little history would have been incomplete without it. 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


75 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION. 



NE evening, soon after the conversation just rela- 


Vy ted, a happy party of young people had gathered 
at Myrtle Lawn. It had been its owner’s custom for 
many years, to celebrate each birthday anniversary by 
a splendid entertainment, and this was one of these 
occasions. All the first-class young people of the 
village were there, besides some from the neighborhood, 
and not a few from Baltimore. 

Everything was in princely style and elegance, and 
corresponded with the wealth and liberality of the 
generous-minded host. The front avenue, leading from 
the entrance of the building to the highway, was 
beautifully illuminated, while the pearly shells and 
tiny white rocks in the way, reflecting the rays of many 
lights, glittered like twinkling stars. From the ceil- 
ings of the halls, magnificent- chandeliers were sus- 
pended, which, casting back each other’s splendor, 
looked like some great collection of brilliant gems. 
The gorgeous parlors, the dancing and supper rooms, 
were all brilliantly lighted, and airy figures of grace 
and beauty, flitting about therein, altogether formed a 
picture of loveliness scarcely to be excelled. 

Mr. Evarts seemed to enjoy the occasion with 
marked zest ; and though he had but lately recovered 
from a severe attack of gout, was almost continually on 


76 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


the floor amid the light, graceful forms, as they whirled 
in the dance. Every lady, as a matter of course, was 
anxious to be his partner, and once, when a figure 
was ended, he was so pressed by a dozen fair ones, each 
urging with eager faces and mischievous eyes, her 
claims to him in the ensuing dance, that he was forced 
to call on young Melton and others to come to his 
rescue, and then gracefully acknowledged that he was 
vanquished. 

The dance had continued until near midnight, when 
they all repaired to the spacious dining-room, where 
supper awaited them. Everything was in the richest 
profusion and elegance, and “all went merry as a 
marriage bell.” The warm lustre of many a bright 
eye, responded to many a delicate toast that was 
drank that night in the sparkling wine, and the blush 
on many a fair cheek betrayed the tender compliment 
whispered in the dear one’s ear. 

After an hour thus spent, the supper was over and 
the guests separated into couples, groups and parties. 
Some promenaded in the open air, along the avenue, 
while here and there, a couple sat ensconced in a pretty 
little bower, with no ear to hear their tender whisper- 
ings — autumn leaves rustling from overhanging boughs 
and little stars twinkling down upon them through the 
tree-tops. A lady sat out on the long veranda in the 
mellow moonlight, with a guitar on her lap, and while 
her voice of richness and melody swelled on the still 
night air, a group of admirers stood around, enchanted. 
Another at a piano in the parlor, attracted a crowd of 
listeners with the touching air of a tender love-song, or 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


17 


thrilled them with delight with the notes of a Scottish 
air. Some were moving about, admiring the paintings 
or other objects, while here and there, you might see a 
party in a retired nook, engaged in a game of chess, or 
such other as suited best their fancy. Let us pause 
here. 

Around a table, in one of the sequestered corners, 
sat Henry and Nora, Horace and his sister. They 
were engaged in a game of whist: Henry and Nora 
playing as partners, and Horace and his sister, their 
opponents. Neither party appeared to be deeply inter- 
ested in the game, or to play with much skill. Nora 
could not pay proper attention, as Horace occasionally 
detained her hand when it was her turn to play, and 
the blushing Jeannette trumped her partner’s trick, 
while listening to the sly whisperings of young Melton. 

They played on thus for some minutes, none keeping 
any score of the game, when Melton arose and proposed 
to break up the game, declaring that his partner could 
not be expected to play with any skill, so long as 
Evarts continued to annoy her; while Horace retorted 
by affirming that he and his sister, would have beaten 
every round, had not Henry kept Jeannette’s mind in 
constant confusion by his plagued whisperings.” 

With a merry laugh from one party, and a blush 
from the other, they left the room, but not in the order 
as they had played ; for somehow, Horace led Nora, 
while young Melton went off with Jeannette on his 
arm. The former couple took their way out toward 
the front entrance, while the latter proceeded to the 
rear, and thence to the garden, which appeared lovely 


78 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


as it lay bathed in the mellow moonlight. As they sit, 
hand in hand, in a pretty little bower, let us see what 
they are saying. 

“ Henry, why are you so silent ? Are you thinking 
of some dear, but absent college-mate, that makes you 
forget that I am by your side ? ” 

“ It is because you are by my side that I am silent, 
Jeannette. Were it any other than yourself, I might 
feel less and talk more. But with you^ Jeannette — 
with this little hand in mine, and under the influences 
which now operate upon me, I am too happy, my heart 
is too full for its feelings to be spoken. Look, Jean- 
nette,” said he, pointing to the heavens, “ do you see 
that bright, beautiful orb? It is most lovely and 
dazzingly beautiful. Your face ^ Jeannette^ is brighter to 
me than the moonlight is to the earth. See yon twink- 
ling star ! It seems to smile on you and me. It is the 
brightest one, Jeannette, and shines with a softer and 
purer lustre than any in the firmament ; yet it wants 
the tender brightness that beams from your mild, blue 
eye — that warm light, that sheds such a quiet joy and 
calm serenity o’er my soul.” 

“And do you love me so fondly, dear Henry ? ” 

“ Love you? No, I adore you ! I love you too well., 
my little angel. It is wicked in me to love you as I do ; 
but I could not help it, if I would.” 

“ You should not love me thus, dear Henry. Your 
love is all the world to me, and I should be lonely 
indeed, without it; but I tremble when I hear you 
speak so, lest God should withdraw his favor from us, 
that you allow a poor, weak mortal to become his rival 
in your affections.” 


MYETLE LAWN. 


79 


“ God will never withdraw his favor from you, 
darling. You are too like one of His own angels, that 
He should ever leave you. Be so always, Jeannette, 
and teach me to school this wild passion of mine, and to 
love you with a holier love. Then in after years, as 
our little barque glides smoothly along over life’s 
waters, your gentle influence will lead me closer to the 
God you worship, and our hands will still be united, 
when time, with us, shall be no more.” 

“ God grant me the blessed mission, dear Henry. 
The lot of mortal could not be happier than mine 
would be.” 

“ And would not my happiness be as great as yours, 
Jeannette? To walk side by side with you through 
life: to have thee ever near me: to feel the gentle 
pressure of this little hand : to ga^e into those tender 
eyes and feel the warm light beam on me : to have 
thee partner of my every joy: to keep away the tear- 
drop, when one should dim your eye : to have the 
knowledge of being loved, and the power to bless : to 
feel your gentle influence giving a limit to untamed 
passions, and a moderation to ungodly ambitions, and 
leading me on gently to the Holy Light. Jeannette, 
oh I Jeannette^ love me I ” 

“ Love you, Henry ? ” 

“ Yes, Jeannette, whisper it to me, and let me see 
if my soul is capable of aught more of bliss.” 

“I — love — you — dear Henry ! ” 

The moon silvered the maple tops, and little stars 
peeped through the falling leaves of the rose-vine. 

^ ^ ^ ^ 


80 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


About an hour afterwards, when the lovers returned 
to the scene of festivities, the young people were all 
getting ready to leave for their respective homes, and 
were hurriedly making their adieux. In a very short 
time, there was only one carriage in waiting, and that 
one was in attendance for Nora Lavine. She soon 
made her appearance, leaning on the arm of Horace 
Evarts, and, having kissed Jeannette good-night at the 
doorway, was soon seated in her carriage and was being 
driven homeward, with her lover at her side. They 
were not many minutes in reaching Elmwood Cottage. 
At the door, she gave Horace her hand, which he 
detained a few minutes, as he said : 

“ You are aware, Nora, that I shall not see you again 
for at least a week — possibly two — as I am compelled 
to go to New York to-morrow, to transact important 
business for my father. You have no idea, Nora, how 
sad it makes me feel to leave you. If I were inclined 
to superstition, I should be really miserable ; for, 
although I am ashamed to acknowledge it, I have a 
terrible presentiment of some coming evil. I do not 
credit any such feelings, and attribute it to a depres- 
sion of spirits, which has its origin in my contemplated 
absence from your side. Still, darling, I can not shake 
off the feeling that has possessed me for the last hour, 
and I am so deeply impressed by it, that nothing could 
drive me from you just now, but the imperative duty I 
owe my father. I believe the thought of that villain, 
MacKenzie, oppresses me. Did you know that he 
returned last evening to our village ? ” 

“ I was not aware of it.” 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


81 


“Well, Nora, he did return, and is now here. I hope 
you will not think I am over-particular, when I beg to 
remind you of your promise to me, that you would see 
him no more. I do not doubt you, dearest ; I feel that 
you are all that is good, pure and beautiful ; and still 
I dread this man. I know him to be a fascinating 
serpent.” 

“ You need not fear, Horace. He can do us no 
possible harm, and I renew my promise, that I will not 
see him again. Come back as soon as you can. And 
now, dearest, good-by. I must go in, for I know my 
mother has been keeping a lonely watch for me.” 

“Good-by, my sweet bride — but you will give me 
one kiss before we part, will you not, my own little 
Nora?” 

“ You have my heart, Horace. I can trust you.” 

The young man drew the trembling girl to him and 
pressed his lips to hers. 

“ And now, Nora, if this man annoys you while I am 
gone, send me a note to New York. Will you promise 
me this, also ? ” 

“I will.” 

The door closed, and a little while later, Horace ^ 
Evarts was in his room at his father’s residence, asleep 
— dreaming blissful dreams of the little, dark-eyed 
Creole beauty. 

5 


82 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A SNAKE IN THE GRASS. 

H orace EVARTS had been in New York several 
days. MacKenzie was alone in his room, at the 
hotel in our little village. He appeared to be disturbed. 
Occasionally he would rise from his seat and walk the 
floor for several minutes, then resuming his chair and 
turning to a table, would pour out a glass of wine, and 
drink it off. 

He muttered to himself, “ What can she mean ? 
Can it be possible that she heard of my connection with 
that little Mississippi affair ? No indeed ! that thing 
was arranged too cleverly for that. What then can 
be the matter ? Up to the time I left here, ten days 
ago, she had been receiving me as a friend, treating me 
with a noticeable degree of confidence, and evidently 
pleased with my society. All at once she cuts my 
acquaintance, and when I call to see her, the servant 
says, ‘not at home,’ or ‘indisposed,’ or some such 
cursed bosh. In vain I await her in her accus- 
tomed retreats, or linger near the cottage, in the hopes 
of seeing her. She no longer strolls by the river-side, 
or watches the setting sun from her window. Here I 
have been a week in this miserable little place, forego- 
ing all the pleasures of the world — travel, variety and 
city life — in the futile effort to win one woman’s good 
will. A week? Why I have been here most of two 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


83 


months. But pshaw ! I have plenty of money. 
That cracked-brained Southerner has lined my pock- 
ets for the next six months. Possibly it may be well 
for me to remain here a month longer. The girl is 
certainly very beautiful — so j^oung and blooming — 
scarcely seventeen, and so artless and innocent, too. 
Egad ! I can not let her go. Just now is my time. 
That ever-in-the-way lover of hers is in New York: no 
doubt enjoying himself finely — perfectly snug in her 
love, and confident in her security. But he will be 
back in a week or ten days. I will contrive to see her 
immediately, and if she doesn’t receive me kindly 
before his return. I’ll resort to some strategy, and see 
if I can’t manage to send him away, and break up that 
pretty little prospect of conjugal bliss. If I can get 
him off and drive her to desperation, I can have every- 
thing my own way. It is my impression, the young 
buck has his suspicions, and that he has been whisper- 
ing them into her ears. But never mind. I’ll find out 
before another sun rises and sets.” 

At this junction of his soliloquy, the sound of a foot- 
step near his door arrested his attention, and in a 
moment more a low tap was heard. In response to his 
“ come in,” a young woman entered. 

“Ah! my pretty Bessie,” said he, “I am indeed, 
most happy to see you. I hope you are able to give me 
some pleasant news to recompense me for such long 
waiting. How is your young lady, Miss Nora, this 
morning?” 

“ Miss Nora is well, Mr. MacKenzie,” replied the 
girl, “ and for the first time in several days has gone 


84 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


out for a walk. She is unattended and bade me wait 
with her mother until her return, which she said would 
probably not be within an hour. She has been a little 
sad ever since Mr. Evart’s departure for New York, and 
has scarcely left the house since he went.” 

“ Can you tell me, Bessie, what is the cause of this 
change ? ” 

“ I cannot, yet I more than suspect that you are 
in some way connected with it. Yesterday, as I was 
passing the parlor, where Miss Nora and her mother 
were conversing, I heard her mother say : ‘ It is well 

to be guarded, my child, but I really think Horace 
exacting • in requiring you to make such a promise. 
However, if his opinions were well-founded — ’ Here 
they perceived me, and the subject of conversation was 
changed.” 

“ Why did they so suddenly drop it — do they 
distrust you?” 

“ Oh, no indeed. They have always placed the 
utmost confidence in me,” — the young girl was silent 
for a moment, and then resumed — “and they have 
alwaj^s been very kind and good to me, and I wish, 
Mr. MacKenzie, I had not entered this affair with you 
— not even for all your gold.” 

“ Why, Bessie, my little girl, how silly you do talk. 
Come, take some of this wine — you are nervous.” 

. MacKenzie poured out and handed her a glass of 
wine, which, after a little hesitation, she drank. 
MacKenzie then resumed. 

“ I am only for making Miss Nora happy. If I can 
once get her to love me, she will be far happier than 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


85 


with that young fellow Evarts. He would keep her 
cooped up here all her life like a bird in a cage, without 
ever seeeing any thing of the great, beautiful world, 
outside of this village. I want to take her to Italy and 
Rome, and Paris and London, and let her see some of 
the beauties and wonders of the world. She shall have 
money without stint or limit, and her very wish shall 
be anticipa^d. Then my pretty Bessie will be more 
like a queems attendant than the house-maid of a little 
country cottage.” 

The girl was silent and thoughtful for a moment, and 
then her scruples seemed to have been removed, for she 
went on : 

“ I was going to say that I did not think Miss Nora 
distrusted me, but she is particularly silent about you, 
and will not answer any questions concerning you. In 
truth, she told me last evening, that she preferred I 
would never mention your name to her again. I am 
sure Mr. Evarts is the cause of this, and that he has 
asked her not to see you again ; and the reason for her 
having kept so close, was to avoid seeing you. I told 
her yesterday tliat you had gone away, and that is why 
she is out this morning.” 

“ That ’s all clever, Bessie. You just keep your eyes 
open, and let me hear from you again, to-morrow. I 
will see her directly, but of course can not now fore- 
see the result of our interview. After she returns from 
her walk, you must closely observe her conduct, and 
talk with her as much as you can. Remember, Bessie, 
you are sworn to render me all the assistance you can.” 

“ Yes, sir; and you are to pay me well for my ser- 
vices — ” 


86 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


“ Fifty dollars on the day that witnesses the success 
of my cause. As an earnest, take this,” and he gave 
her a handful of silver coin. 

They were now about to descend the stairway. 
MacKenzie paused until the girl had got out of sight, 
as she hurried back to the cottage. MacKenzie bent 
his steps toward the grove of trees, which she had 
designated as the retreat of Nora Lavine. ^ 

As the reader has already been informed, Nora 
Lavine had not seen MacKenzie since her lover left 
her for New York, which took place about a week prior 
to the conversation just related. Several times, Mac- 
Kenzie called at Elmwood, but as soon as she was made 
aware of his coming, she would retire to her room, and 
send some excuse for not seeing him. More than once 
she was almost persuaded to see him for a moment, and 
to let him know, unequivocally, that his visits were no 
longer agreeable. But would she not be compelled to 
explain the sudden change toward him ? and how could 
she do this without bringing in the name of her lover ? 
If it should happen that Horace was mistaken, and 
MacKenzie could prove beyond all doubt that he had 
been grievously slandered, would not her explanation 
involve him and Horace Evarts in some dangerous 
complications ? Suppose, on the other hand, that 
Horace had painted his character truly, would Mac- 
Kenzie, on hearing it, hesitate to take any mean advan- 
tage, thus making him more to be feared than an 
honorable enemy ? 

When Nora Lavine revolved these thoughts in her 
mind, the idea of seeing MacKenzie or making any 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


87 


explanation of her conduct toward him, would be 
immediately abandoned, and she decided to persevere 
in the course she had been pursuing, thinking and 
hoping that MacKenzie would get offended and leave 
the village. The situation of Nora Lavine, to say the 
least, was embarrassing. Here was a young man of 
fijie, honest, manly face, who, according to his own 
story, was a soldier in the same cause in which her 
father’s life was sacrificed. Not only this, he had ac- 
tually been a member of the very regiment which her 
father had commanded. They had fought side by side 
through bloody battles, and shared each other’s dangers 
and hardships. He too, had lost one preciously dear to 
him — an only brother, whose fate was not much less 
sad than her noble father’s had been. This young 
man, MacKenzie, had accidentally met her, and on the 
occasion of their very first meeting, had rendered her 
assistance that in all probability was the means of 
saving her life. As a matter of course, she felt pro- 
foundly grateful, and did not hesitate to receive him 
cordially as a friend and benefactor, and the mind of 
the fair, credulous young girl became strongly preju- 
diced in favor of her preserver. 

MacKenzie had always been remarkable polite, 
attentive and considerate, and had never asked or 
claimed any but a friend’s part in her affections. Did 
he not have a right to her friendship and gratitude? 
It reall}^ seemed so. But then, the man whom she had 
promised to marry, and whom she loved with all the 
fondness and tenderness of which her soul was capable, 
had pronounced him a “gambler and a villain.” He 


88 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


had never seen him gamble — never knew him to be 
guilty of any thing dishonorable. He had only heard 
these things. After all, might not Horace be mistaken ? 
Might not just a little tinge of jealousy have had some- 
thing to do with his prejudices? If so, what would 
MacKenzie think of her? Of course, that she was 
simply the most heartless and ungrateful creature on 
earth. In this unhappy and feverish state of mind, the 
poor girl hardly knew how to act ; and when her maid 
had told her the day before that MacKenzie had gone 
away, she felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted 
from her heart. 

Under the same clustering vines ; beneath the same 
spreading trees; on the same mossy mound, where not 
many weeks before MacKenzie had seen her weaving 
her garland of wild flowers, Nora La vine sat. Not 
many yards away from her, flowed calmly the waters 
from whose treacherous beauty his strong arms had 
rescued her. The wild flowers had faded now; the 
green foliage had turned to golden, and the yellow 
leaf, from the overhanging bough, lost its hold, and, 
rustling idly with a sort of melancholy sound, fell upon 
the water and was borne silently away — suggesting to 
the mind the thought of some lost joy or faded hope. 

Nora Lavine watched the silent river, and the float- 
ing leaves ; and her mind went back to the time when 
first Horace Evarts met her — a little girl in her short 
dress, with her bonnet in one hand and flowers in the 
other, and her hair, all dishevelled from her gleeful 
running,* hanging around her forehead and on her bare 
shoulders. And then of the joys and love of later 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


89 


years ; and how their love waxed strong, until now she 
could see the day* just ahead when she should be his 
wife, and he her own loving husband. 

The yellow leaves, rustling through the air, fell 
upon the waters; and Nora Lavine watched them glide 
away. In her thoughts she was so wrapped, she heard 
not the soft foot-fall, and was not aware that she was 
not alone, until MacKenzie stood before her, vis-a-vis. 


90 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


CHAPTER IX. 

EVOLVE ME NT OF THE PLOT. 

N ora was startled, like a frightened fawn, at the 
sudden apparition. She could hardly believe the 
reality of the situation, as MacKenzie stood before her 
pale and silent. For a moment she bowed her head, 
and covered her face with her hands, as if to shut off 
an unwelcome vision. As she removed them, and 
looked up into his eyes she saw that he was regarding 
her with a kind, but sorrowful look. Turning crimson 
she gasped rather than spoke : 

“ Mr. MacKenzie, I thought you were far away.” 

“ And hoped so,” was his answer. 

She was about to make some reply, but she saw that 
he was reading her very soul, and again the rich color 
mounted her cheek, and her eyes sinking beneath his 
fixed and searching gaze she was silent. 

“ Miss Lavine, how have I offended you ? ” 

“ You have given me no cause of offence, Mr. Mac- 
Kenzie. I feel under the most profound obligations to 
you, and can never forget the services you rendered me 
when we first met. But — but — but sir, why do you 
seek me when your good sense must have told you I 
wished to be alone ? ” 

“Nora Lavine, hear me! In the name of a sympa- 
thy that has sprung from our common sorrows : in the 
name of the memory of your murdered father: in the 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


91 


name of the love I cherished for him, hear me ! I am 
all alone, and a wanderer in the world. I have no 
settled home, and no one to love me. My father died 
when I was very young. Of the fate of my only 
brother you already know. I never had a gentle sister 
to soothe me with tender words of love, or to comfort 
my heart when stern sorrow pressed upon it. I never 
knew a fond mother’s love that would have been my 
joy and blessing — never had her guiding hand to lead 
me. I was turned loose at an early age upon the sea 
of life, with a nature passionate and impulsive, which 
afterwards became saddened over the ruins of our Lost 
Cause, and embittered towards all mankind by the 
memory of the wanton and cruel murder of my only 
brother, whose crime was an honorable battling for his 
country’s rights, against tyrannical usurpations. To-day, 
he and your father sleep side by side in the land they 
died for. You are many years my junior, and in this 
respect you were more fortunate than I ; for you were 
too young to keenly feel your loss, and as you grew 
up to maturer years you had a dear mother’s tender love 
to soften the memory of the cruel tragedy. In another 
respect I was more fortunate than you, if the posses- 
sion of vast wealth can be called good fortune. Though 
the estate of myself and brother was almost entirely 
appropriated or destroyed by our implacable enemies, 
yet we owned a large sum of money in a foreign bank, 
placed there some years before to our credit by the last 
will and testament of our uncle. On the death of my 
brother, this untouched inheritance was all mine ; and 
immediately after the war I came into possession of 


92 


M Y K T L E LA ^V N . 


more money than I ever dreamed of. Do you think 
I was happy? No indeed; I was miserable, for I 
was positively alone in the world, with but little con- 
geniality or sympathy in common with my fellow man, 
and had the friendship of no living being save that 
which was bought by the glitter of my gold. I sought 
novelty and pleasure in travel; wandered o’er the wide 
world ; looked for quiet and happiness beneath the 
balmy skies of Italy, and roamed amid its flowers and 
its vine-clad hills. As time wore on they all grew 
tame to my accustomed vision, and their charms van- 
ished. Then I would turn from these to the dark-eyed 
Italian beauties ; and, while the softest strains of music 
would float on the quiet air, and dreamy eyes languished 
with love, I felt that I was more than ever alone. I 
went to Rome, the Niobe of nations — the once proud 
mistress of a conquered world — still grand and beau- 
tiful, but all her pristine glory gone forever. As I 
stood amidst the scenes of the most thrilling incidents 
that ever occurred in the drama of human life, and 
gazed on crumbling monuments of ancient greatness, I 
was impressed with the utter instability of all earthly 
grandeur, and turned sickening from the contemplation. 
I visited Greece, the inventress of the sciences, the 
mother of Arts, the land of heroes and the grave of 
Leonidas. But when I would linger on its legends, 
and ponder on its deeds of ancient valor, bitter and 
tragic memories of my own loved land would rise up 
before me in panoramic array, and I turned my back, 
too, on this fair country of chivalry. I passed through 
the halls of arts and sciences, and sat in the rooms 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


93 


where poets had sung. I went to the Holy Land, and 
standing on sacred mounts viewed the plains where 
Prophets fed their flocks. I wandered by the Dead 
Sea, and trod its shores of barren desolation; and shud- 
dered when I gazed on the bright but bitter waters, for 
T saw the reflection of my own loveless life. I went to 
Edinburgh, the great centre of Scotland’s long past 
woes, and tried to enjoy for a while the grand, wild 
pictures of beauty that loom up around and beyond in 
every direction. I visited the dark historic Grampian 
Hills, that stand out on the horizon, giving a limit to 
man’s vision. I looked on the broad incomparable 
‘ Frith of Forth,’ and watched the countless vessels that 
were plying to and fro the eternal waters with which 
it blends; while I could listen to the heavings and 
the dashings of the wild waves as they beat and lashed 
the rugged shores in ceaseless sublimity. I gazed on 
the crumbled towers of renowned castles until my mind 
was lost in the tragic events of the past, when the 
wicked unflinching desperado, Bothwell, murdered 
Scotland’s King, and poisoned the name of her Queen. 
Thought of the royal palace Holyrood, the scene of 
terrible commotions and crimes, and of the imprison- 
ment of the beautiful but unhappy Mary, until the 
exciting events in her life came up in a panorama 
before me, and I saw her kneeling at last beneath the 
fatal death instrument, invoking in her dying moment, 
God’s blessings on her murderers. I listened to the 
echoing thunders of the wild storms of the highlands, 
and was reminded of the terrible explosion that blew 
to atoms the sleeping Darnley, and shook as with an 




94 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


earthquake the grand old hills of this modern Athens. 
The winds howl and moan, and sway the great trees of 
the forest, or sigh mournfully around these old seats of 
learning and renown, as if the departed spirits of the 
Past were bewailing the mistakes and miseries of olden 
times. And while the events of the Past, stranger 
than any fiction, excited wonder and awe, the contem- 
plation of them impressed the mind with a most sor- 
rowful sadness, and I was glad to turn away from them. 
At last I retraced my steps and came back home — home ? 
came back to the United States. Fortune or caprice 
wafted my little barque to that quiet, pretty village 
yonder, which rests so snugly in its lovely vale. You 
know the rest, Nora; how it was my good fortune to 
rescue you from those bright waters there, which now 
seem so calm and harmless. You gave me your friend- 
ship and confidence, and I felt that a new life was 
dawning upon me ; that I had found at last one being 
whom I could honor and cherish; one at least who 
could sympathize with me, and think gently and kindly 
about me. And now, here in the broad face of nature, 
with heaven’s blue canopy above us, and the hand of 
the Creator seen in his beautiful works about us, I do 
solemnly affirm that the intervening space — from the 
time I saw you yonder with outstretched hand reach- 
ing for the wild flowers that hung just over the water’s 
edge, until one week ago — is, and will ever be, cher- 
ished by me as the happiest era of all my life. For 
some unaccountable cause, and without a moment’s 
warning, you persistently refused to see me, and I felt 
that the light of my life’s rising star had all been 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


95 


extinguished. Yesterday morning I left the village ; left 
it with the determination of quitting forever the scene 
of my bitter disappointment. I could not do so. I felt 
that I would be leaving behind me the grave of buried 
hopes which nO time would ever revive. I returned, 
and this morning saw you when you left your cottage. 
I soon after followed. If my presence here be an intru- 
sion, you have but to bid me leave you, and I will go 
forth again and roam purposeless and objectless, and 
seek in the whirl of life and the scenes of nature for- 
getfulness of your face and the first hopes that ever 
budded in my bosom. You have heard me. Shall I 
go, or will you let me stay by }Our side — living in the 
warmth of your sympathy — the only blessing I know 
on earth? You weep? You will not drive me from 
you?” 

Nora had been deeply impressed with the libertine’s 
appeal to her sympathies ; but soon brushed her tears 
away and rose to go. 

On their return walk, MacKenzie put all his powers 
of entertainment into requisition in the vain effort 
to interest her or draw her into a conversation. 
He dilated on the beauty of the scene that stretched 
all around and before them, until the eloquence of his 
language gave a more golden tint to the great fields of 
ripened corn, and a softer hue to the autumn leaves. 
He spoke of the lovely landscape that lay everywhere 
beneath the balmy skies of Italy. Told of her fair 
meadow^s, her sweet flowers, her lovely maidens, and the 
never-ceasing music of her singing birds. Then he 
would point away across the distance to some neat 


96 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


cottage surrounded with shade trees, and vines clamber- 
ing its painted walls, and call it a “paradise,” a “home 
of innocence and love ; ” and would contrast the lives 
of its inmates with that of those who live in the great 
city of continued tumult, surrounded by vice and cor- 
ruption; and he would sigh for just such a cottage 
home, away from the world, where he might spend his 
days in peace and happiness with some fair being whom 
he could love and cherish. 

Nora Lavine had no reply. She was ill at ease, and 
she moved along silent and thoughtful, with eyes look- 
ing downward. She was thinking of Horace Evarts in 
New York, and had not forgotten the promise she gave 
him a week ago, when she granted him that good-by 
kiss. Well too, did she remember the sad presenti- 
ments he spoke of, and ah ! the name he had associated 
therewith. 

Just before they reached the cottage gate, they met 
Henry Melton and a young companion returning from 
a morning ride. Melton raised his hat and bowed with 
characteristic politeness to the young lady, but the cold 
glance which he bestowed on her escort, and the irre- 
pressible shade of annoyance that passed over his 
features did not passed unobserved. In a moment 
more they were at the cottage gate, and as it swung 
open, Nora said : 

“ I will not trouble you to go further, Mr. Mac- 
Kenzie.” 

“I may call to see you again, may I not. Miss 
Nora?” 

The young girl blushed deeply, looked terribly 
confused and was silent. 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


97 


The eyes of MacKenzie seemed melting with a half 
sad, half reproachful look, as he fixed them upon her 
eyes and, in a low measured tone, said : 

“ The only joy I know in this world, Nora, is in your 
friendship. Will you drive me from you?” 

“Mr. MacKenzie may call in the morning if he 
wishes.” 

She hurried into the house, and thence to her room, 
and flinging herself on a bed buried her face in her 
hands and wept. For the first time in all her young 
life she felt ashamed and guilty. Ashamed of what? 
Guilty of what? Poor girl, she had nothing to be 
ashamed of. She was not guilty. It was a convic- 
tion of circumstances that was weaving a web of 
wretchedness about her. 

6 


98 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


CHAPTER X. 


SCHEMES AND JEALOUSY 


f HAT evening, as MacKenzie and a friend of his 



I were playing billiards, at the saloon of the village 
hotel, they did not notice the entrance of a little urchin, 
until he asked: “Is airy one you gemman Mr. Kinzy?” 

“ Yes, my little man. What can I do for you ? ” 

The lad stepped forward and handed the speaker a 
slip of paper, whereon was written : — “ I await you at 
your room ; have something of importance ; am in a 
hurry; come quick.” The note bore no address or 
signature, but MacKenzie understood. 

“Well, Bessie,” he said, as he unlocked the door of 
his room; “come in and be seated. Now tell us what 
it is you have for us.” 

“ This morning, when Miss Nora returned from her 
walk, she seemed more nervous and excited than I ever 
saw her. She went right on to her room without see- 
ing her mother, and wlien I went up to her, a little 
later, she was lying on the bed, weeping. She said she 
was not well, and wanted to be alone ; so I left, and 
did not see her again until dinner. At the table — 
although I could see she was trying to control herself — 
she appeared scarcely less unhappy and embarrassed. 
After the meal was over, she called her mother into 
the parlor. I will tell you as near as I can what she 
said.” 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


99 


Here the girl related all that passed, during the 
morning, between MacKenzie and Nora Lavine, as 
given by the latter to her mother. 

“ What did Mrs. Lavine say, after Nora got through? ” 

“ She said a great deal more than I can repeat. I 
remember, among other things, that she told Miss Nora 
she need not make herself unhappy: that her seeing 
you was no violation of the promise she had given 
Mr. Evarts, as you forced yourself into her presence 
when she was not expecting you. She told her that 
the mistake she had made in promising to see you 
to-morrow, could be remedied by sending you a note 
withdrawing the privilege ; and she counselled her to 
write immediately to Mr. Evarts, giving him a minute 
account of every thing that had transpired in his 
absence.” 

“ Did she write, as her mother had advised her ? ” 

“ She did,” replied the girl, “ and I have the letters 
here now, in my possession. She instructed me to mail 
the one to Mr. Evarts, myself, and to send yours 
direct to you by a special messenger. As she directed, 
I called for her letters at the office, and got one from 
Mr. Evarts — I know his hand-writing.” 

“ Bessie, give me these letters.” 

“ Here is the one addressed to yourself, sir.” 

MacKenzie took the letter, carefully opened the 
envelope and taking the note therefrom, placed the 
envelope in his pocket-book. 

“ Why are you so particular with the envelope, Mr. 
MacKenzie? ” 

“ I do not know but that it may possibly be of some 


100 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


service to me. Besides, you know it is her handwri- 
ting, and — well, I shall prize it on that account. Let 
us see what she says ! ” and he read aloud : 

“‘Mr. Mackenzie: — When I inform you that my 
purpose in writing this note, is to withdraw the privi- 
lege I gave you this morning of calling to see me on 
the morrow, you will doubtless think me inconsistent 
and ungrateful. You have never given me any cause 
of offence, and you once did me a service for which I 
shall ever be grateful; but there is an imperative 
duty resting upon me that requires me to forbid you 
my presence. Without making any explanation I will 
now tell you, emphatically and unequivocally, that I 
will not see you again. Of course you will not seek me 
further, if you are a gentleman. 

“ Respectfully, 

“Nora Lavine.’” 

MacKenzie knew well how to control himself, but it 
required his best efforts to repress the rising flood of 
rage and disappointment that was welling up from the 
very bottom of his heart. But he was as self-possessed 
as ever when, a moment after, he looked up and said : 

“ Well, Bessie, that’s cool; and now let us have the 
other letters.” 

“ Th^ other letters, Mr. MacKenzie ? Why, what 
can you want them for ? They can give pleasure to no 
one but to those to whom they are addressed, and can 
be of no possible use to you,- since of course you do not 
expect to see Miss Nora again.” 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


101 


“See her again? Of course I do. Will you give 
me the letters ? ” 

As tightly as MacKenzie held the reins of self- 
control, he was evidently growing impatient, and this 
impatience was only aggravated by the girl’s reply. 

“ Mr. MacKenzie, the rewards you promised me for 
my services in this affair, were conditional. I see no 
prospect of those' conditions ever being fulfilled ; and I 
am not willing longer to go on as I have done, unless I 
have something to fall back on, for in case of detection, 
I shall lose my place and my mistress’ affection by this 
game of deception and treachery.” 

There was a slight quiver of the lip as MacKenzie 
sneeringly replied : • 

“ You have got to be very scrupulous all at once,” — 
and then a moment’s pause, during which he recovered 
his composure, and his tone was much more gentle and 
conciliatory, as he resumed: — “I want to secure Miss 
Nora’s happiness as well as my own, Bessie. Of course 
I can do nothing now, except by resorting to some 
underhand — as you will say, — means.” 

“ But how do yt)U propose to proceed. She declares 
emphatically in that note, that she will never see you 
again.” 

“ I know not definitely how I shall proceed. I think 
one or both of the letters you have, would give me 
some suggestion as to the best mode of action.. It is 
evident now that I must use some strategy; and, 
however unpleasant it may be to us both, and though 
it may at first cause Miss Nora some unhappiness, in 
the end, I know it will be for her good; and instead 


102 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


of condemning you for the part you took in the matter, 
she will thank you. What money do you require ? ” 

“ If you will give me ten dollars now and promise to 
give me ten more at the end of a week, unconditionally, 
I will give you the letters, and in the meantime will be 
guided entirely by your orders.” 

“You are exacting. Miss Bessie, but here is the 
money; and now give me the letters.” 

She carefully stowed away the money, and then 
handed him the letters, the seals of which he proceeded 
to break : first the one written to Horace Evarts. It is 
unnecessary for us to give the letter, as it would be 
mere repetition. In writing it, Nora had kept her 
mother’s advice strictly, and gave to her lover a 
detailed account of her unexpected and unavoidable 
interview with MacKenzie that morning, and also 
inclosed a copy of the letter she had just sent him. 
She closed her letter in these words : 

“ You have only been gone a little more than a week, 
dear Horace, and yet it seems to me a much longer 
time; and I have been sadder during your absence 
than at any former period of my life. As soon as you 
can possibly get through with your business, come 
immediately to JVora, who is and will always he yours 
and yours only.'"* 

The four pages of the sheet of paper on which the 
letter was written, had been filled out, and the words 
which we have italicised were written on a separate 
slip of paper and enclosed in the letter. This slip 
MacKenzie took out, carefully folded and put away in 
his pocket-hook. 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


103 


He then opened the one sent by Horace to Nora. 
This was a long letter, full of expressions of the tender- 
est devotion, confidence and love. Its closing lines 
were as follows : 

“ I have not heard from you since I left, but I know 
that all is well, or else you would have written me as 
you promised. I will now lay aside my pen, but the 
theme will still linger with me. In two days I shall be 
with you. To-morrow is Saturday. The next day, a 
little after eleven o’clock, I shall be in our happy little 
village. I shall immediately repair to the church of 
your accustomed worship, and if you are not there, I 
will seek you at ‘Elmwood. Until then, little darling, 
I bid you good-by.” 

* ^ * * * * 

About the same hour of the same day that MacKen- 
zie and his guilty accomplice were reading the inter- 
cepted letters, and concocting their villainous plans for 
the blighting of two innocent hearts, Horace Evarts was 
in his room at the St. Nicholas, in New York, packing 
his trunk and making final preparations for leaving for 
his home, very early the next morning. His face wore 
a radiant, happy expression, and his heart was light and 
gay, as he hummed a favorite air which he and Nora 
had often sung together. The young man was think- 
ing of her, and was enjoying in anticipation the 
pleasure of their meeting on the morrow, and was 
listening already to her gentle words of confidence and 
love. He was about completing all his arrangements 
for his departure, when a porter entered and handed 
him a letter. It was stamped at our little village, and 


104 


MTKTLE LAWN. 


Horace immediately recognized the hand-writing of 
Henry Melton. Eagerly opening it he read : 

“My dear Horace: — As you are expected home 
in a few days and can not now see any occasion for this 
letter, you will be surprised. The fact is, I am about 
to start for Boston, where I propose to complete my 
law-studies, and I write to say good-by. I see no 
earthly need of going out of my native State to study 
law, as Maryland can afford me advantages equal, if 
not superior, in that particular respect, to any in the 
Union ; but my father thinks Boston is the place for 
me, and for Boston in two hours I start. You will say 
this is unexpected. Very true. You remember I told 
you, on the occasion of your party at Myrtle Lawn, 
that I should not leave home before the last of Novem- 
ber, and it is not yet the first. All at once, however, 
my father got very anxious for my immediate depar- 
ture, and nothing that I could say would convince him 
that I would derive no advantage by being there so 
early ; so I have yielded to his wishes in this matter, as 
I do in nearly all things, and am ready to go. It really 
makes me quite sad, my dear Horace, to leave without 
seeing you, and I should feel the separation still more 
keenly were it not that we can communicate our 
thoughts and feelings to each other through letters,' 
which I hope will be frequent and regular. There is a 
little dove-eyed angel here, too, whom I am almost crazy 
at leaving ; and it would put my courage to a severe test, 
did not her papa declare most solemnly that she shall 
not marry me until six months after I get my license 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


105 


to practise law. So I play the philosopher, and put the 
best face possible on the matter. A four months’ 
absence, however, is pretty trying. 

“ I have been very busy for several days, making my 
arrangements to get off, and what few spare hours I 
have had were spent with your father and Jeannette — 
you know my object in going there was to console them 
in their sorrow for your absence. I make this state- 
ment by way of apology for my inability to give you 
anything definite from your little queen Creole. I 
have not been to call on her since you left, and have 
seen her only once since the night of the party. She 
was then out, just returning from a walk, and was 
escorted by that man MacKenzie. Miss Nora knows 
that I do not quite fancy the fellow, and I noticed that 
she blushed deeply when I raised my hat to her and 
very coldly saluted him. If you will not be offended 
or think me officious, I will presume to advise you, dear 
Horace, to persuade Miss Nora to drop his acquaint- 
ance. It is true that this would be embarrassing, under 
the peculiar circumstances, for her to do, and she 
might be at a loss how to act. She remembers that to 
this MacKenzie she owes the possible preservation of 
her life ; and what he tells her of his association with 
her father during the war, and a great deal more — 
none of which I am quite disposed to accept — has 
impressed her mind generously towards him. I repeat, 
I would counsel you to warn her of him. I believe 
that he is a cool impostor and a polished villain, though 
I have no certain evidence to that effect. I do know 
enough about him, however, to warrant me in saying 


106 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


that he is licentious and immoral; and as such, is 
under no circumstances, a fit companion for a pure, 
innocent young girl. I do not know that Miss Nora 
has seen MacKenzie, except at the time I mentioned ; 
but I notice that he has been here ever since you left, 
and so I suppose, she continues to receive him as a 
visitor and a friend, as she has heretofore done. 

“ I have not time to write more, and must say 
good-by. Do not fail to write to me often ; and now if 
you please, Horace, when you write, always tell me 
something and at length, about — your pa^s family. 

“ Of course you will always write about yourself and 
Miss Nora. I shall ever be delighted at hearing happy 
news from you, and I know that none other will come. 

“ In all truth, your friend, 

H. M.” 

Horace Evarts holds the open sheet before his eyes, at 
arm’s length ; and, while his face is ashen, and his lips 
compressed, he stands gazing upon it. 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


107 


CHAPTER XI. 


APPEARANCES AGAINST HER. 
LOVELY Sabbath morning dawned on our quiet 



little village. It was a day of rest and repose, 
and all work was at an end. The din of the hammer 
and saw was suspended, and the rumbling of the manu- 
factories was hushed to silence. All nature seemed 
calm and serene, and even the golden tints of the 
village shade trees seemed to have a brighter hue in 
the crisp morning air. 

The quiet of the pretty streets was undisturbed, and 
scarce a sound was heard save the music of the church 
bells, as they summoned their little flocks to the wor- 
ship. The low solemn melody brought a passing for- 
getfulness of business cares to the worldly man, and 
perhaps gave a softening and restraining influence to 
the evil passions of the wicked. The scene and the 
occasion were not without their moral influence upon 
Nora Lavine, as, with her brow resting on her hand, 
she sat at one of the windows in the parlor of Elm- 
wood cottage. The young girl felt a tender sympathy 
with all around her, and her heart, subdued by holy 
influences, expanded with divine love. She was alone. 
Owing to a slight headache, from which she had suf- 
fered since the day before, she had declined attending 
divine worship that morning, and, as her mother had 
gone to church, and the maid Bessie had just left, she 
was sole occupant of the cottage. 


108 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


It was half past eleven o’clock. The church bells 
no longer chimed, for the worshippers had all assem- 
bled and were making their offerings. A tall, handsome 
young man with dark hair and eyes, a pale face, and 
nervous excited manners, peered in at a church door 
until his eyes rested on a certain pew, wherein a 
respectable middle-aged lady sat alone. Turning away 
abruptly the young man walked rapidly down the 
street, round a corner, and out towards the suburbs. 

He had approached within a few hundred yards of 
the cottage when the hand of a woman thrust through 
a window not far distant, waved a white handker- 
chief. Immediately a third person emerged from an 
obscure retreat near the cottage wall, and proceeding 
to the house straightway, without hesitation, entered 
the open door. Nora Lavine was aroused from her 
musings by hearing a quick, light step approach her, 
and before she was able to reach the door, MacKenzie 
had entered and stood in her presence. 

The hot blood of anger and indignation for a moment 
glowed in the burning eye and crimson cheek of the 
insulted girl, but it almost immediately gave way to a 
deadly pallor, and she swooned and would have fallen 
had not MacKenzie caught her in his arms. She felt 
his embrace and the hot breath on her cheeks, and' they 
brought back consciousness to her mind and the seeth- 
ing blood to her brain. Tearing herself from him, and 
retreating to the farthest corner of the room, she stood 
the picture of injured innocence ; and, while her dark 
eyes fairly burned with scorn and passion, she 
exclaimed : 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


109 


“ Coward, hypocrite ! How dare you force yourself 
upon me, and pollute the atmosphere of my home with 
your vile, degrading presence ? ” 

“ Nora, for God’s sake hear me just one moment. I 
would not for my life harm one hair of your head. 
You would not receive me as a visitor, and I stole in 
here to bid you an eternal farewell.” 

‘"Go, sir ! I detest and despise you. I will not bid 
you farewell. Leave me, or I will call for assistance 
and have your base hypocrisy and villainy exposed to 
the world. You do not intend to go, — then I will.” 

She made a wild rush for the door, but MacKenzie 
had placed himself between it and her, and caught her 
in his arms. The reaction was sudden. Her brain 
reeled. The color died out from her cheek. The eyes 
lost their fiery brightness, and — innocence lay uncon- 
scious on the bosom of vice. 

MacKenzie placed his victim on a sofa at hand; and, 
while he knelt by her prostrate form, and was in the 
act of pressing his polluting lips to hers, another foot- 
step was heard in the doorway, and a third person 
appeared on the stage. 

“ Traitor, fiend, devil ! What means this.” 

At the sound of this voice, life and thought, and con- 
sciousness returned to Nora, and springing from the 
sofa and clinging desperately to her lover, cried : 

“ Horace ! dear Horace, save me from him, and 
forgive me, I could not help it.” 

Forgive me^ I could not help it. Father of Heaven ! 
The words went like a dagger to the heart of poor 
Horace Evarts. He placed her in a seat, and turning 
upon MacKenzie, said calmly and coldly : 


no 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


“ Explain your presence here. Make your first and 
your last prayer, devil, for your hour has come.” 

MacKenzie looked into the muzzle of a bright silver- 
mounted pistol that was pointed in his face ; but there 
was not the quiver of a muscle as he calmly replied : 

“ If you shoot now, you slay an unarmed man. Read 
this, young man, and to-morrow if you want anything 
more, I shall be at your service.” 

Horace Evarts mechanically took the letter which 
was handed out towards him, and glancing at the 
envelope which bore the subscription, “ Mr. MacKenzie, 

Hotel W ,” knew the hand -writing. He cast 

one reproachful heart-broken look towards Nora Lavine, 
and opening the envelope took therefrom a slip of 
paper, and read aloud : 

“ Come immediately to Nora who is^ and will always 
he yours^ and yours only^' 

A poisonous reptile strikes his fatal blow, then 
noiselessly glides away. So went MacKenzie. 

Nora Lavine, in an instant saw it all, and was speech- 
less. Her face became marble-like in its deathly pallor, 
a shadow passed before her vision, and she knew no 
more. 

Her eyes opened at last, but Horace had vanished, 
and she was alone. 

“ Horace ! Oh, Horace ! ” she moaned. “ Come 
back. Come back. I am not guilty. Do not leave me 
thus. Oh, God ! he is gone for ever.” 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


Ill 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE PATERNAL VETO. 

H enry melton had been at Boston nearly a 
month, when one evening a letter was handed 
to him. It was the first that he had received since his 
departure from home, and this fact made him a little 
nervous as he opened it. The long silence of his 
friends had been a source of much concern to him ; 
and as he could not imagine any reasonable cause 
therefor, he began to feel neglected. That his father 
did not write was a matter of no wonder; for he 
scarcely ever wrote to any one except on business ; but 
he was both surprised and grieved at Jeannette’s appa- 
rent indifference. He had written to her several times 
since he left her, and having received no reply, felt 
really unhappy about it. He did not in the least doubt 
her constancy or affection, but something somehow had 
whispered to him that all was not well at Myrtle Lawn. 
At last a letter had come, and he held in his hand the 
key to the secret of their long silence. Tearing off the 
envelope which bore his father’s hand-writing, he read : 

“Melton Mansion, Nov. — 1874. 
“My Dear Son: — I should have written to you 
sooner, but my business has required my strict personal 
attention. As you are aware a great financial distress 
has been sweeping over the country since the terrible 


112 


MYETLE LAWN. 


panic of last year. Its bad effects have lately been 
visible to a painful extent on our business houses, in our 
city here. Some princely fortunes have been swept 
before the storm ; and old merchants, whose hair had 
grown gray in accumulating wealth, now lie prostrate 
without a dollar. For some days I trembled for the 
safety of the old House of Melton & Co., but, though 
the storms beat upon her she weathered them all, and 
still stands in her pride and glory — stronger and 
prouder from having passed through the fiery ordeal. 
The firm of Lennox Bros., which was by many 
esteemed one of the very strongest in the city, came 
down in a crash, and cannot, I understand, pay one half 
' of Its obligations. Mr. Evarts suffered severely, and 
would no doubt have been totally wrecked had it not 
been for a fortunate little speculation he made recently 
in cotton, by which he is said to have realized a profit 
of some ten thousand dollars. As it is I think he has 
lost heavily in the last year or two, and I fear his for- 
tunes are rapidly declining. It is an old adage, that 
‘ misfortunes never come singly,’ and, while it is not 
invariably true, it assuredly was verified in the case of 
Mr. Evarts. A darker, far sadder calamity than his 
pecuniary losses befel him soon after you left. His 
son, you will remember, was engaged to marry the 
young Southern girl who lives with her widowed mother 
in the cottage on the suburbs. He was in New York, 
I think, when you left home. It appears that he sus- 
pected the fidelity of the young lady; for, returning 
unexpectedly, and hastening to the cottage, even before 
he had gone home, he found Miss Lavine in a most 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


113 


indelicate situation with a young man, while her mother 
and the maid servant had gone to church. Instead of 
spurning her from him, and forgetting that he had ever 
seen or heard of such a woman, young Evarts acted 
the part of a poor weak fool ; and being maddened by 
her faithlessness and treachery, threw himself into the 
whirlpool of dissipation, and for a week or more was 
raving with intoxication. As soon as he partially 
recovered his reason he abandoned his home, and has 
not been heard of since. I do not know how the facts 
gained publicity, but true it is that there is scarcely a 
man or woman in all the community around who has 
not heard of the disreputable affair. The young girl, 
I understand, is now lying prostrate at her home, not 
having yet recovered from the effects of a most violent 
brain fever ; and her poor mother it is said, has settled 
into a state of miserable melancholy, on which it is 
hardly likely her mind will ever react. These two 
calamities — his pecuniary misfortunes, and his son’s 
disgraceful connection, and subsequent conduct — have 
proved a heavy blow to poor Evarts. I have not 
called at the Lawn for a week or more, but I learn that 
he looks very much worsted from his troubles, and 
seems to find no relief from his sorrows, except in his 
wine-cup. This kind of solace, any one knows, is very 
deceptive, and is only temporary ; for, while it may, 
for a season, blunt the sting of memory, and thereby 
mitigate the present anguish, it is destroying what is 
left of his pecuniary prospects, and bringing him 
slowly, but surely to a premature grave, while the only 
inheritance of his children will be dishonor. I am 
7 


114 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


truly sorry for the family, and deeply lament the 
untoward circumstances that brought this great trouble 
upon them. For more than one reason am I grieved. 
I should sorrow for any one whom I saw in suffering. 
How much more then must I feel for one with whom I 
have been so closely associated as a friend for many 
long years. I have had a real affection for Mr. Evarts, 
and I enjoyed his society as much and probably more 
than I did any other man’s in all my extensive acquain- 
tance. This society I shall now lose in a great meas- 
ure ; for, as a matter of course, recent occurrences will 
restrict seriously our future intercourse. His pecuniary 
loss has nothing on earth to do with this restriction ; 
for that, while it would greatly diminish his influence 
generally, would not in the least affect my feelings 
toward him, and I should gladly have rendered him 
any reasonable assistance in extricating himself from 
his financial embarrassments. But the other affair cer- 
tainly does reflect seriously on his family and his name, 
and I cannot, in justice to my own reputation and 
character, encourage as free and cordial an intercourse 
as has heretofore existed between us. As I said before 
I grieve as much, and probably more than any other 
living man at the clouds that are lowering o’er the 
Evarts’ house ; but ‘ it is an ill wind that blows nobody 
good,’ and, while nothing scarcely would reconcile me 
to Mr. Evarts’ misfortune, I feel somewhat consoled 
by the reflection that they will positively remove 
from your pathway the one serious obstacle to your 
advancement. Of course I allude to Mr. Evarts’ 
daughter, for whom you thoughtlessly contracted a 


MTETLE LAWN. 


115 


fioyish passion. I do not doubt but that it may cause 
you some little trouble to forget her, but your efforts 
in that direction will be rendered comparatively easy 
by the reflection that to carry out your once contem- 
plated project, would be to silence for ever every hope 
of mine, and to defeat irremediably every honorably as- 
piration you ever knew. I do not deem it at all neces- 
sary to go further into this subject, for I give you credit 
for good sense, and '‘verhum sat sapientV Before I 
close, however, I will mention one thing further for your 
consideration, that your natural pride may put a balm 
upon any possible heartaches that this sudden termina- 
tion of your affaire du coeur may cause you. I told 
you of the illness of the unfortunate young girl at the 
cottage. The physician who attends her made it known 
during the early part of her sickness, that it was nec- 
essary for some gentle hand to assist her mother in 
nursing her. (I omitted to state that the young girl’s 
maid, Bessie, I believe her name was, is supposed to 
have gone off with her mistress’s seducer, who was 
driven off a day or two after the scene at the cottage 
by threats of violence, uttered by certain young men 
of the village who were particularly partial to young 
Evarts.) As might have been supposed all the ladies 
shrank from the contact ; but as soon as Miss Evarts 
heard of the physician’s announcement, she immedi- 
ately volunteered her services, and has since been, I 
understand, an almost constant attendant at the bed- 
side of the sick one. It certainly manifests a kind and 
sympathetic heart ; but just think, the wife of hav- 
ing for weeks watched at the bed-side of a . This 


116 


MYETLE LAWN. 


thing alone would stain through life the name of any 
man who married Jeannette Evarts. I am speaking 
now with you, and you alone. I would not say this 
much to another living being. I say it to you from a 
sense of duty. 

‘‘ You will write to me as often as once a week. I may 
not write oftener than once a month. I shall always 
be glad to hear from you, my son. I have no one else 
in all the wide world to love ; and in all my efforts, and 
in all my labors, I have an eye single to your future 
prosperity and promotion. 

“ Your father, 

• * “ Edwin Melton.” 

Amid all the exciting and conflicting passions which 
this letter aroused in Henry Melton’s mind, the ruling 
one was sympathy in the sorrows of those he loved. 
He thought of Mr. Evarts, that kind, good old man, 
who had ever been his friend, who had petted him 
through his childhood, and later on had treated him 
with almost the same fondness he showed for his own 
Bon, that noble guileless nature, whose heart was ever 
overflowing with impulses of charity and love. He 
could see him, in spirit and in body, bowed and broken 
by the weight of accumulated misfortunes; and then 
went forth a prayer that God in His mercy would 
soften the sorrows and lighten the burdens of the old 
man’s heart. Then fancy took him to Elmwood cot- 
tage, and he stood by the bedside of poor Nora Lavine, 
and gazing on the burning eye and fevered cheek, he 
listened to the mad ravings of delirium ; or heard the 


MYETLE LAWN. 


117 


low moans, as the wild spirit exhausted sank, and the 
scarcely audible whisperings, piteously pleading : “ Oh, 
Horace ! Come back. Come back ! ” Then he saw Jean- 
nette kneeling there, like an angel of hope and mercy, 
watching and praying for wronged innocence ; while the 
tears of sweet sympathy and love were welling up from 
the dear gentle heart, and streaming down the fair sad- 
dened cheeks. Then, too, the poor mother, grief-stricken, 
silent and speechless, with stealthy steps, moving by 
the sick one’s side, and the pale lips quivered, and the 
sad eyes were dry ; for tears would not come to relieve 
the pent up heart. And then his mind turned to 
Horace Evarts, his boyhood’s companion, his heart’s 
friend. He thought of his misery, his despair; of the 
blighted hopes and the* wilted garlands of love. 
Thought of him friendless and alone, friendless and 
forlorn, buffeting the dark waves of sorrow, with no 
siren voice of hope to cheer, no whisper of sympathy 
to encourage. And then he could send his fancy forth, 
like the dove from the Ark — out on the wide waste in 
quest of the heartbroken wanderer ; but like that dove, 
it wearied in its boundless flight, and returning, brought 
no olive leaf — no peace offering to the troubled spirit. 
Henry Melton raised his glass and scanned the future ; 
he saw his own hitherto rising star shadowed in a 
mist. Who could tell but that time might develop 
that mist into a cloud whose impenetrable darkness 
would not only obscure the brightness of his own des- 
tiny, but envelop in sorrow and gloom the glad light 
of another heart, whose happiness was dearer to him 
than his life. 


118 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

A lover's missive. 

I T was evening. The month, November. Jeannette 
Evarts sat, almost concealed by the rich folding 
curtains of a window, in the parlor of Myrtle Lawn. 
She was alone, and in deep and silent meditation. 
Twilight shades were gathering, and the shadowy veil 
hung o’er the extended landscape until objects were 
growing dim in the distance. The air was so still that 
it scarcely waved the light leaves that, falling from the 
overhanging boughs, floated lazily, or rustled with a 
melancholy sound against the window. The last 
golden streaks were fast fading from the western skies, 
and the whippowil had already begun his mournful 
notes in an arbor on the lawn. Two or three stars, 
earlier than the rest, appeared — pale and trembling — 
through the almost leafless tree-tops, while the round, 
full orb of night came blushing up from the east. 

Jeannette Evarts was gazing abstractedly through 
the lengthening shadows, while the long-neglected book 
lay open on her lap. Her fair young face, pale and 
sad, wore an expression of profound melancholy, and a 
tear — unconsciously to her — trembled on the half- 
closed lid. She was so absorbed in her musings, that 
she did not hear the soft foot-fall behind her, and was 
not aware of her father’s presence until he laid his 
hand gently on her shoulder and spoke ; 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


119 


“ Is my poor little dove all alone here in the dark- 
ness ? I thought you had gone to your room to rest 
yourself and sleep, after your weary vigils by the side 
of the poor sick girl at Elmwood.” 

“ I did go to my room, dear papa, but I could not 
sleep.” 

“And why, my poor little bird? I know you are 
worn down ; for your cheek is pale, your eye has lost 
much of its brightness, and your step is no longer so 
light and free.” 

“It is not the result so much of watching, papa. 
The body may endure and the eye still retain its bright- 
ness. It is the sick heart that causes the eye to grow 
dim, and the step to lose its lightness. I found I could 
not sleep, and as you were resting when I came down, 
I would not disturb you ; so I stole here, and have been 
quietly watching the growing shades of evening, and 
listening to the low wails of that lone bird in the 
bower.” 

“ Come here, my child. Now sit you here on my 
knee, and tell me all you have been thinking.” 

He put his arm around her, and with her head rest- 
ing on his bosom, and her eyes filled with tears, she 
began. 

“ I have had very sad thoughts, papa. I have been 
thinking most of my poor unhappy brother, wandering 
friendless and alone out in the cold world, seeking to 
drown in his wild rovings the miseries of a broken 
heart. I was wondering where on the broad earth he 
might be to-night, and was weeping, dear papa, o’er his 
long, sad absence. I was sighing to see him once 


120 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


again ; to put my arms around his neck, and to speak 
words of comfort and of hope ; to tell him, papa, that 
poor dear Nora Lavine is as innocent as an angel. Oh ! 
I feel so wretched, as if I should never be happy 
again in this world. I was thinking of the sad, sad 
causes that blighted his happy life, and that exiled him 
from all that he could ever love. And I thought of the 
blasted hope and the wrecked life of poor, wronged 
Nora, and of the bitter sorrow that shut out all joy 
from her heart for ever. I thought of the dark cloud 
that hangs like a pall of woe over her way, and how 
the sweet flowers of promise were wilted just as they 
were about to bloom in fruition. I thought, too, of the 
poor grief-stricken, sorrow-bowed mother. I thought 
of you, my own dear papa, and I became more 
wretched, because I knew that you were unhappy. 
Then I thought of — Henry; and I knew how sad he 
would feel when he heard it all : and I wondered if he, 
too, like every one else, would believe poor Nora 
guilty. Papa, is it wrong for me to love Henry very 
much? I would love him even more if I could, if I 
knew that he would not judge Nora harshly.” 

“ And if he^., should judge her as others do, dear 
child, you should, not, for this reason, love him less. 
The judgment would be but a rational conclusion from a 
review of the circumstantial evidence. I do not believe 
Nora Lavine has done wrong. Let us not speak of this 
now. It is true, my little girl, we have much cause to 
be unhappy ; but you make yourself unnecessarily so. 
In your nervous depression, consequent upon a too 
close attention at the sick bed-side, you magnify the 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


121 


evils that are upon us. Your poor brother, I hope, will 
return before very long : for I think his grief will wear 
away, in a great measure, amid new and exciting 
scenes : and, although he may not, for a long while, be 
as gay and light-hearted as of old, he will eventually 
recover his bouyant spirits, and be the same dear son 
and brother. If, as we believe, Nora is guiltless of 
wrong, let us trust that something may occur to prove 
her innocence, and then all will be well. Cheer up, 
little daughter. Though our sunlight is now hidden 
by a cloud, it will shine all the brighter when the 
shadows are gone.” 

“ Bless you, dear papa. If you will only let me see 
you smile again, and will always love me so fondly, I 
can bear anything, and you shall not hear me murmur 
again.” 

“ You are the angel of my life, my child, and may 
your sainted mother’s God smile on and bless you 
forevermore.” 

The old man stroked back the brown, silken braids, 
and tears trembled in his eyes. 

It was eleven o’clock. The bright full moon had 
reached the zenith and was riding, high and clear, in the 
cloudless skies. A thousand stars, glimmering in the 
bespangled vault of heaven, were mirrored in the quiet 
lake, that all unruffled slept below; whilst the great, 
broad valleys, dotted over with farm-houses and neat 
white cottages, were bathed in a silvery radiance. The 
tall trees cast fanciful shadows on the lawn, and the 
yellow leaves grew golden in the moonbeam. 

In her bedroom, at a window that overlooked this 


122 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


moonlit scene, stood Jeannette Evarts. Her face was 
turned towards this lovely picture, but she scarcely saw 
its beauties ; for her mind’s eye was looking through the 
confusion of present realities into the vista of the past, 
and her thoughts were engaged with the memories of 
other days, that now glided before her vision like a 
beautiful dream. And then she dwelt again on the 
present; and then she peered into the future, to see 
what joys the angel-hands held out to beckon her on. 
She thought of Henry Melton — of the time when they 
had played together on that very moonlit lawn that 
lay before her — thought of the woodbine bower, and 
the big moss rock by the gurgling brook, and in mem- 
ory heard again the little bird’s love-ditty ; thought of 
the rose arbor in the garden, where on a night juSt like 
this he sat by her side, and they together watched the 
same glorious orb that now smiled so sweetly above 
her ; and — her heart swelled with the happy memories 
until a tear stole into the mild blue eye, and — 

“ Oh, God, let not my brightest dreamings fade in 
darkness.” 

The door softly opened and a whispering voice said • 

“ Is Miss Jeannette asleep?” 

“ No, Mary, I am not asleep. But why have you 
come ? I told you I should not need your services any 
further to-night, and I thought you had retired hours 
ago.” 

“ Please excuse me for disturbing you. Miss Jean- 
nette. I have a letter for you. Casper was much later 
to-night with the mail than usual, and I had to await 
his coming, to see your father’s papers delivered to him. 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


123 


When I handed him the letters, he gave me this for 
Amu ; but, supposing that you were asleep, bade me not 
disturb you to-night, but keep it until the morning. I 
knew the handwriting, and thinking you would be glad 
to get it, I bethought me to steal quietly here, and 
had you been asleep I should not have broken your 
slumbers.” 

“ You are very kind and faithful, Mary.” 

The girl withdrew with a good-night, and closing the 
door after her, Jeannette was again alone. 

“ Boston, Mass., Nov.— 1874. 

“Jeannette: — I am about to write to you, for 
seAmral reasons. It gives me pleasure to linger o’er the 
pictures of joy that memory holds forth, and to dwell 
on the sweet promises that hope blends with your 
name. I love to think of you, and in our separation 
to let our spirits commune through the medium of 
blessed letters. Another reason is, I believe you will 
be pleased to get this token of my love, and to see how 
ever-present you are to my thoughts, as well as how 
firmly fixed on my best affections. My chief reason, 
however, Jeannette, is this: I wished to express to you 
my sympathy — my deep and heart-felt sympathy in 
all your troubles, the tidings of which were communi- 
cated to me in a letter from my father, received 
yesterday. I know that my little darling is sad, and 
to say that I share her sadness and am unhappy, would 
be superfluous. My feelings are too closely • allied to 
your own, Jeannette, that you could suffer and I be 
exempt. 


124 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


“I feel that you are a part of my very being, and 
whatever affects your happiness must necessarily pro- 
duce a like change upon mine own. When I heard of 
the sad and bitter — apparent — termination of the 
cherished hopes of dear Horace, my heart was stricken 
with a grief scarcely second to your father’s and your 
own; and, while I knew of the anguish that wrung his 
soul, my own was made to suffer more acutely by the 
knowledge that I was powerless to serve him. When 
I heard of his absence from you all, I was more than 
half-decided to quit mj^ studies and go in quest of him ; 
and I was only deterred by the consideration that he- 
might probably return home even before I could find a 
trace of him. 

“I am not sufficiently acquainted with the exact 
nature of your grief, to offer you any words of 
encouragement or comfort. But you may be certain 
of one thing — whatever troubles may hang over Myrtle 
Lawn, from my heart I condole them. And if the 
assurance of my confidence unshaken in the integrity 
and purity of Nora Lavine, and my steadfast belief 
that the poor girl has been foully and cruelly slandered 
through the machinations of that traitorous, cowardly 
villain — MacKenzie : if the assertion of my unchang- 
ing friendship for Horace — a friendship which no time 
or fortune can ever shake : of my deep respect, rever- 
ence and sympathy for your dear, noble old father : of 
my unfaltering, undying love for you, my angel Jean- 
nette — a love deep-rooted in the soul, inseparable from 
my dreams of happiness — be any balm to your 
wounded spirit, apply it, Jeannette; for here, in the 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


125 


solitude of my room, afar from you, unmoved by 
passion, and with a spirit calm, cool and deliberate, I 
swear to you that my love for you, darling, is all that 
you would wish it; and that my purest sympathies are 
with you all at Myrtle Lawn and Elmwood. If there 
be any chance for me to serve you or your father, or 
dear Horace, or the unhappy ones at Elmwood, you 
have but to let me know, and nothing shall detain 
me. I can not, however, believe otherwise than that 
Horace will very soon return to you all, and that the 
skies will all become unclouded again. 

. “ It will probably be several months before I shall 
see you: before I shall again be gladdened by that 
bright face, or hear the sweet voice which is by far the 
dearest music my heart has ever known. But absence 
cannot affect my love, Jeannette. I shall linger each 
day on the sweet memories of the past and the blessed 
promises of the future; and, though far from your side 
I shall love you just as devotedly as if I held that little 
hand in mine, and felt the warm light of your dear, 
loving eyes beaming on me. Jeannette will be faith- 
ful, too: will love me always, will you not, darling? 
Your spirit whispers its gentle answer to my spirit, 
my Jeannette. I hear its soothing voice in my mid- 
night dreamings. I hear it when the early morn grows 
bright ; and when the shades of twilight are gathering 
about me, I feel a tender, silent influence and I know 
from whence it comes. 

“ For the present, Jeannette, I bid j^ou good-by. 
You must write to me, darling, and be not reserved; 
for are not our hearts as united as if the marriage 


126 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


ceremony had already been performed ? In conclusion, 
I would repeat that I am happy in your love, and 
would say, that if any thing had been wanting to perfect 
my admiration for the angelic purity and beauty of your 
character — if any thing had been wanting to strengthen 
my confidence in your constancy and devotion — it 
would have been furnished in the example of your 
noble fidelity to poor slandered Nora, under the most 
trying circumstances, when every one else had aban- 
doned her to misery and reproach. 

“ Henry Melton.” 

The moon went down in the west. The stars faded 
from the sky. The dew sparkled on the meadow. 
The plowman’s whistle was heard in the field. The 
great red sun was climbing in the east, and a stray, 
golden ray stole through the latticed window and 
gilded a silken curl. Yet Jeannette Evarts slept on; 
and, though a pearly tear-drop glistened on the closed 
lid, sweet smiles were wreathing the cherry lips, and a 
pretty dimple played with the rose blush on the cheek. 
Jeannette was happy, for tender visions moved before 
her dreaming fancy, that Henry was by her side. 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


127 


CHAPTER XIV. 


TRUST AND HOPE 


S spring is to external nature, so is youth to 



JlX. human life. We see the meadows carpeted 
with velvety hues; the trees robed in green foliage, 
and the flowers blooming by the hedgeway. The air 
is then laden with the richest odors, and the birds are 
singing in the shrubbery. Lambs frisk and gambol on 
the hill -side, and brooklets sparkle in the valleys. 
Nature wears her gayest smiles, and the world looks as 
fresh and beautiful as if just issued from the great 
Creator’s hand. All is peace, and Love and Harmony 
— two holy handmaids, move among the flowers. 

Youth furnishes the synonym. The heart, honest 
and guileless, is glad, buoyant and happy. The rich 
blood goes bounding through the veins, and bright 
hopes burn high. Ambition stands by the student’s 
side and points him to the gilded pinnacle. Sweet 
day-dreams lull the lover to rest in the flowery dell, 
and he has visions of Paradise, and is wandering in 
the fairy-land with the loved one at his heart. 

We have known, however, the leaflets to bud too 
soon; the violets in the valley to be cut down by the 
biting frost, and the rose leaves to lose their fragrance on 
the chilling winds. Then the meadows grow dark again, 
and the music of singing birds is hushed to silence. We 
have likewise known the chill of sorrow to come over 


128 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


the young heart : its buds of promise to wither in the 
blasts of disappointment; its holiest hopes to be crushed 
in their bloom, and the cup of joy, ready raised to the 
lips, to be turned to poison. We have seen cruel 
despair take the place of sweet promise ; the fount of 
joy grow dry, and the cup of bitterness substituted for 
that of intoxicating bliss. Is there any picture half so 
replete with sadness ? The heart and hope of youth 
crushed — a deep, dark cloud of gloom and sorrow 
shrouding it up when all should be sunlight and happi- 
ness ! To see it one day speaking through the sparkling 
eye and rosy cheek, its loves, its joys, its hopes: the 
next, despairing, lone ; with no responsive echo to the 
voice of the happy world ; no seraph-notes to whisper 
“ hope ; ” no bright star glimmering on the distant 
horizon to shed a ray ! 

It is not so much the convulsions in the social or 
political status of nations; the falling away into decay 
and ruin of earth’s proudest cities; the uncertain 
stability of monarch’s thrones, or the crumbling into 
dust of the monuments that were erected to stand 
through the ages of the coming time — that impress 
with sadness and sorrow the thinking mind half so 
much as the positive uncertainty of human hope, and 
the sad vicissitudes in human affections ! Revolutions 
in governments are productive, oftentimes, of saving 
results. From the thrones of monarchs often emanate 
cruel decrees of tyranny and oppression. Monuments 
are miniature Babel -towers. Fallen cities may be 
re-built ; but by what process can the altar of the heart 
be re-erected when its pillars are broken — when hope 


M Y K T L E LAWN. 


129 


is dead, and the garlands of love lay wilted in the 
burning tears of misery ? 

These thoughts occurred to us as we looked upon 
the wasted form, the pallid cheek and the sunken eye 
of poor Nora Lavine, as she sat one evening, silent and 
listless, in the little vine-covered portico of Elmwood 
Cottage. Her mute, sad eyes were directed away to 
the westward, where the god of day was sinking in 
billows, while his departing rays gave a silver lining to 
the huge fragments of clouds that were piled up against 
the horizon. The picture was sublime, but Nora’s 
colorless face expressed no feeling of admiration or 
pleasure. Despair — blank, cruel despair — was written 
on every feature. The cheek was pale ; the brow was 
cold ; light had faded from the eye and hope from the 
heart. The scenes that once excited her wonder or 
inspired her song, or 

“ Soothed each gust of passion unto peace, 

All hut the swellings of the softened heart 
That awaken not, disturb the tranquil mind,” 

had lost their charm. The mellow moonlight, the stars 
of night, the god of day — “ his gorgeous coming and 
his setting indescribable,” — the music of the wild woods 
and the smiles of Nature, only furnished to her mind a 
painful contrast to the gloom that was within, or were 
lost upon her in the contemplation of the shame and 
misery that, canker-like, were corroding the heart. 

And yet she would not, could not weep. From the 
moment the fever left her burning brain, and she awoke 
to a consciousness of her real situation, a dull apathy 
8 


130 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


fixed itself upon her, and the fount of tears was dried 
up. She scarcely murmured, and as seldom did she 
smile. When she did, it was to please her mother, and 
in this it failed, for it seemed less like an expression of 
pleasure than a flitting ray of sunlight o’er the face of 
death. Nora hardly ever spoke unless addressed ; and 
even then she was often absent and silent. Her every 
movement was mechanical, and she appeared to take no 
interest whatever in passing objects and events. 

The sun went down and the shadows hung o’er the 
valley. Still Nora sat in the portico, gazing westward, 
silent and motionless. 

“ Nora, my child, are you still out here in the night 
air? You should not expose yourself at such an hour. 
The evening shades are falling, and they bring the 
chilling dew. You forget that you are just recovering 
from a severe and dangerous illness, and that a relapse 
now, would in all probability carry you to — ” 

“ Relief, my mother. Death has no terrors for me. 
It is only the happy who fear to die. They have love 
in their hearts, and hope in their lives. The world 
looks bright and beautiful to them, and the ties that 
bind them to earth are strong. The shadows of the 
grave seem dark, and they dread to cut loose the silken 
cords that bind them here, and to bid an eternal fare- 
well to the gladsome sunlight. The wretched have 
nothing to fear. Death to them is rather a relief from 
the miseries here, and the darkness of the tomb is not 
more gloomy than that they leave behind them. I 
long, aye, long to die.” 

“ Cease, my darling child. I am grieved to hear you 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


13 ] 


speak so. It is not only unwise, but it is wicked to 
wish for premature death. It is opposing your will to 
that of the Divinity. God, in his wisdom, placed us, 
each one, here for a purpose, and we must fulfill our 
mission. When we wish to die ere He wills it, we show 
a want of moral firmness and courage to meet the 
responsibilities of life, and a lack of Christian grace to 
bear up under the afflictions which God, for some wise 
end, sees fit to visit upon us. You must cheer up, my 
dear, darling child, and look to Him.” 

“ Oh, mother, I cannot cheer up. My sorrow over- 
whelms me. What have I to live for ? My hopes have 
been all sapped, “ name blighted, heart riven, and life’s 
life lied away.” I am a being apart from my sex — 
separate and distinct. I am shut out from the beauti- 
ful world, and a dark cloud rests upon me; a cloud 
that has no silver lining behind its awful blackness. I 
am shunned by all — all; and my name is not 
whispered in holy places, lest its sound should bring 
taint and evil. It is a shame to virtue, for none believe 
in my innocence.” 

“ You forget, Nora. I know your purity, and 
Jeannette Evarts has clung to you Avith an abiding, 
unshaken faith, and with /more than a sister’s love. 
You have reason to be unhappy, my child, but you are 
not all forsaken ; and there is a holy consciousness 
within that should whisper, peace. No matter what 
may happen, I shall always love you, my child. Let 
then your home, my Nora, be in your mother’s heart. 
^You must live for me, and live for God. Put your 
trust ill iTm, my child, and if you are but true to 




132 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


yourself, true to Him^ He will bless you as sure as the 
heavens are above the earth. Trust Him, and just so 
sure as the coining of the morrow’s sunliglit, will lift 
the darkness from the face of yon valley. He will 
drive the clouds from your pathway. And though the 
night of sorrow may seem dark and starless and unend- 
ing, yet the dawn will come. It will come in his good 
time, and it will bring light and gladness, and joy and 
peace to the now bleeding heart. Pray^ Nora: pray 
for strength and faith.” 

“ Oh ! mother, I will try to pray ; will try to trust 
and believe. Help me, mother. Help me to pray.” 

That night Nora Lavine struggled and prayed ; and 
when the old town clock struck the midnight hour, she 
still, on bended knee, in the silence and darkness of her 
room, wrestled with the spirit. In an hour afterwards 
she arose ; and, while her face and bosom were bathed 
in holy tears, there was a quiet smile on the lip, and 
hope in the heart. And when the eyes were closed, 
and the long lashes swept the pillow, sweet slumbers 
stole upon her; and there was an angel- watcher by her 
side, for a bright, lone star glimmered through the 
parted curtains, and its beams rested on her bosom. 


MYKTLE LAWK. 


133 


1 


CHAPTER XV. 

INTEREST OBSTRUCTING LOVE. 

E dwin melton sat in Lis office in Baltimore. 

He had been engaged examining into the state of 
his affairs. His inspection proved that his business was 
all that he could wish. Gold was pouring into his 
already glutted coffers, and he was not only one of the 
very wealthiest men in Baltimore, but in all the busi- 
ness circles of the country. He prided himself on his 
credit and his money — not so much for their sakes 
alone, as for the fact that gold was the basis of popular 
favor ; and he wanted influence with his fellow man. 
His son must climb up, and from the top round of the 
ladder hand down to posterity a name made illustrious. 
What instrument or agency would facilitate his efforts 
so much as gold ? 

The path to fame is comparatively easy when strewn 
with the shining ore ; but poverty must climb over 
many a sharp and jagged cliff ere it attains any honor- 
able height, and Edwin Melton knew it. 

Every thing had been working admirably, and was 
going on to his entire satisfaction and, for several 
weeks, he had been unusually complaisant. He did 
not doubt but that since the occurrences at Elmwood 
and Myrtle Lawn, his son had relinquished all thought 
of making Jeannette Evarts his wife; and therefore 
saw no obstacle in the way of uniting his house with 


134 


MYKTLE LAWN’. 


that of Senator Glennmore. He had more than once 
hinted this scheme to that gentleman, and it was evi- 
dently entertained with pleasure. The idea scarcely 
occurred to Edwin Melton, that he would find any 
difficulty in getting his son to conform to his wishes 
after all memory of what he was pleased to term 
“ his boyish passion,” had been effaced from his heart. 
Forsooth, how could he object to such an arrange- 
ment? 

Ellen Glennmore was young, amiable, pretty, and 
highly accomplished; and had had the honor of refu- 
sing half a score of suitors, some of whom were among 
the most handsome and talented men in the country. 
That she was partial to young Henry, there could be 
no doubt; for, although they had not met over fre- 
quently, she had evidently shown a preference for him, 
and there was a warmer lustre in her dark eyes, and 
her smiles were softer when he was at her side. 

“In a little more than two months now,” said the 
old merchant to himself, “Henry will be at home again. 
By that time his views will no doubt coincide with 
mine in this matter. I will manage to throw him into 
the society of Miss Glennmore as much as possible, 
and to keep him away from Myrtle Lawn. When his 
mind is cool and dispassionate, he can not fail to see 
the advantages to be derived from this alliance I have 
in view, and with this prejudice in her favor, he will 
not be able to resist her charms.” 

Some such thoughts as these were occupying Edwin 
Melton’s mind, when a letter with the postmark Bos- 
ton, was handed to him. He opened it, but before he 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


135 


read it through his face grew pale, and he was almost 
speechless from anger and astonishment. Again and 
again he read : 

“ In this, my father, I can never comply with your 
wishes. My happiness is not alone involved. I have 
the hopes and happiness of another in my keeping, and 
the trust is a sacred one. I could not violate it if even 
thereby I incurred your everlasting displeasure.” 

The elder Melton had too much character and too 
much sound sense to allow himself to be long under 
the control of such a feeling, as anger. With scarce 
a seeming effort he suppressed his wrath, and in a few 
minutes his face was as calm as if no storm had ever 
passed over it. An hour afterwards he was seated 
in his carriage speeding homeward. On his way 
thither he revolved in his mind many plans of action, 
but none of them exactly suited him, and he finally 
came to the conclusion that the best policy would be 
to wait, and trust to future circumstances, fully deter- 
mined, however, in his mind that Jeannette JEvarts 
should never he the wife of Henry Melton while he^ 
the father^ lived. 

^ 0 ^ * 

Now come the bleak, whistling winds, and the drift- 
ing snows of cheerless winter. The leafiess branches 
of the tall, old maples in the forest by the stream, 
stand out coldly against the horizon. The meadows 
have lost their verdure ; the vines and the flowers of 
Myrtle Lawn and Elmwood have shed their fragrance 
and their beauty, as if they were in sympathy with the 
broken hopes of the fair ones there. 


136 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


We no longer listen to the cheery music of spring, 
or of the harvest time; and our evenings instead 
of being passed in pleasant wanderings through 
lovely promenades, are spent in the closed rooms with 
drawn shutters, by the glowing grate. Yet the beauti- 
tiful City of Monuments is full of music, mirth and 
gayety. It is the festive season there. Countless 
figures of grace and beauty whirl through the enravish- 
ing dance. Hundreds of thoughtless and happy hearts 
swell under the influence of enrapturing music. Thea- 
tres are crowded with excited pleasure seekers. Homes 
are full of warmth and comfort, of luxury and loving 
hearts. 

Nora Lavine listens to the merry jingle of sleigh- 
bells. We wonder if she thinks it a pity that the 
spotless purity of the driven snow should be sullied by 
the hoofs of the prancing horses ! Does she look to 
the grand, pretentious, but cold monuments that so far 
overtop the beautiful city? We wonder if they sug- 
gest to her mind a thought of man’s charity ! It may 
be so. 

So the days go on. Nora seldom goes out from the 
walls of her cottage home. She listens to the merry 
jingle of the sleigh bells, and they tell her there are 
happy hearts out beyond Elmwood, but there are 
no sleigh bells within. Yet she is not wretched ; for 
she believes that God is the Lord, and feels that He 
will right her wrongs, and this faith sees the light 
through the darkness. 

The days go on, and the shadow that rests on Myrtle 
Lawn grows darker, for weeks and months have passed 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


137 


since the beloved son, and the idolized brother quitted 
his place in the dear little circle. The vacant place 
had caused anxious thought ; and the doting old father, 
and the tender sister had looked at the empty chair by 
their side, and had looked at each other, and been 
silent. Still no tidings came. The vacant place had 
been watered in tears, and we wonder if Horace 
Evarts will ever come back. We wonder if the empty 
chair will ever be filled. We wonder whether he is 
dead. 

At last, about midwinter, a letter in his hand-writing 
arrives. Is it a stifled little shout of joy that we hear 
as Jeannette Evarts sees the superscription? Why is 
the old father’s face so pale ; and why is his eyesight 
almost lost in the gushing tears as his tremulous fingers 
break the seal? News, at last, of the long absent 
loved one ! He is not dead. He said he was well. He 
did not say his heart was broken by the miserable 
events of that memorable Sabbath morning at Elmwood. 
But we know from his conduct immediately afterwards, 
and from his long continued absence, and from his 
letter too — though he tried to write cheerfully — that 
he was well-nigh crushed. 

Horace kept no note of the passing time as he wan- 
dered half-frenzied by the cruel shock. From town to 
town, from city to city, from country to country he 
went, with no thought but to fly from the miserable 
spectre that relentlessly pursued him. Still he went. 
Away across the broad Atlantic — no object in view ; 
no purpose ; no hope but to forget. At last, somewhat 
broken in health, and his means almost exhausted, he 


138 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


found himself in the southern part of Spain, on the 
coast of the Mediterranean, in the province of Andalu- 
sia ; — that paradise of the kingdom, where perennial 
spring seems to reign ; where the skies are softer, and 
the air balmier than in most other parts of the earth, 
and where the people say a day was never known in 
which the sun refused to shine upon their land. There, 
in that glorious land — in the cities by the sea — in the 
still beautiful, once magnificent, Seville, Horace found 
some rest, some forgetfulness. Thence it was that 
his letter had been sent. It was full of the tenderest 
affection. He told how he had thought of them every 
hour since he left them ; that he was dying to see 
them, and how he prayed that they might be happy : 
begged them not to be unhappy about him : and that 
although he could not return just yet, the time would 
come, before many months, when he would be with 
them again. 

So the shadow on Myrtle Lawn rested more lightly, 
for Horace Evarts was not dead. He was well. He 
was sound in body and mind, and he loved them as he had 
always loved them, and said he would come again; 
and hope gilded the promise, and the doting father 
and the loving sister looked at each other, and felt 
that the empty chair would not be empty long, and 
they wept tears of joy and relief. So the cloud had 
a silver lining, and thus the winter days went on. 
Jeannette and Henry continued to love each other 
with all the fervor and purity of their noble minds ; 
and they wrote to each other from time to time, and 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


139 


there was nothing to mar their happiness except this 
shadow on Myrtle Lawn, and the cloud that rested 
on Henry’s mind which Jeannette did not see — the 
secret knowledge of a proud, unyielding father’s disap- 
probation of his love. But they were young, and youth 
is full of hope. So hope would not let the shadow 
rest too heavily, and youth had few misgivings. The 
winter days were not very tedious. And Jeannette 
told Nora Lavine about the letter from Seville. But 
she said little, and kept close to her cottage home 
during those winter days, and the snows continued to 
fall, and the sleigh bells to jingle, and they told her 
there were happy hearts outside of Elmwood, and 
somehow her own heart was lighter, for Horace Evarts 
was not dead, though she had no hope in her love for 
him. 

Edwin Melton continued his visits to the city, 
though they were not so frequent during the winter 
da3^s ; and always came back with a dignified and self- 
satisfied air, and well he might, for all his affairs were 
highly prosperous, and this rich man continued to 
stand among the very first on the list of wealth and 
influence in the mercantile world. There was no seri- 
ous shadow on his way, for his pride lifted him above 
and his will swept trifles out of his way. He seldom 
wrote, but often received letters from his son. No 
allusion whatever (by his own positive directions) was 
ever made in any of these letters to the affaire du coeur 
of young Henry. The final and emphatic law had 
been laid down in the last letter but one which the old 
merchant had written, and it read somewhat after this 
style : 


140 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


“ As to your foolish and thoughtless affair with Miss 
Evarts, I tell you once again and finally, my son, that 
you had as well forget it. If you can not — you say 
you can not — conquer a boyish passion when there is 
no reason in it, you are not, and never will be, fit to 
fill any high station in Life. But I know you can 
subdue it, and I tell you I will never listen to the ful- 
fillment of any such matrimonial engagement. 

“ From your very infancy I have toiled and labored 
for you. I have idolized you, and in you have been 
centered all my fondest, dearest hopes of earth. Yet 
if you persist in carrying out this insane intention of 
yours^ you are no longer a son of mine^ and must rely 
on your own resources for a livelihood, 

“ I do not trouble myself much, however, about the 
matter, for I have hardly a doubt but that your eyes 
will soon be opened, and that you will see the folly of 
your blind infatuation. In any event I wish you never 
to mention the subject again to me in any of your 
letters, but go on in the diligent prosecution of your 
studies ; do as you know I wish you to do, and you 
will be the pride and the joy of my life, while your 
reward will be found in the results of my life-long 
labor and the blessings of an old father’s heart.” 

So the winter passed. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


FORESHADOWINGS OF FATE. 

HE lowering clouds of smoke from the machine 



JL. shops and manufactories no longer draped our 
prett}^ village in shadows, but were wafted away by 
gentle zephyrs and lost to sight in the cloudless skies. 
The dense fogs were lifted from the valley; streams 
again sparkled in sunlight ; fish sported in the limpid 
wave ; birds built their nests in the arbor, and the wild 
lark, on swift wings, with cheerful note greeted the 
happy spring. The plow-boy went to his work with a 
jolly air. The farmer merrily sang as he sowed his 
seed, and the heart of man, like the face of Nature, 
awoke to new life, new hope, new energy. The old 
man’s face was lit up with a pleasant light, as he looked 
back on the halcyon days of his own heart’s spring, 
and his soul grew glad in the bright retrospect. The 
young were happy, aye, jubilant and joyous, for the 
season was symbolic of their own spring-time of life. 
They looked upon the bursting buds, and thought how 
soon they would bloom in sweet luxuriance and beauty: 
then turning to the heart, they watched the buds of 
promise there, and looked longingly forward into the 
future, when there, too, would bloom in the full 
fruition of hope and happiness. 

The cares and sorrows of the heavy heart were soft- 
ened: the love and joys of the light were enhanced. 


142 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


and the heart of man beat in unison and harmony with 
the great, swelling, throbbing heart of Nature. 

Myrtle Lawn was unchanged — just as we saw it one 
year before, when Jeannette Evarts was standing at the 
open window, looking out on the bright lake and the 
beautiful landscape beyond — the same sweet Elysium, 
where innocence loved to make her home. There was 
the little seat under the arbor in the garden, where 
Jeannette and Henry sat in the moonlight. There the 
same lovely flowers, the same clustering vines. There, 
the pretty greenwood in the background, with the 
crystal lake in its bosom. The glassy surface reflected, 
as then, the drooping lilies that grew from its bank ; 
there, above it, towered the same old poplar as vener- 
able as ever, looking down, as it were the guardian of 
its purity. The woodbine bower, near by, had shaken 
off the icy hand of winter, and on that April morning, 
was smiling in all its vernal freshness. The down on 
the moss rock was as silky, the merry rivulet at its 
base danced as gleefully on to its ocean as when it 
made music to the loves of two fond beings, on that 
bright morning when the pretty bird sang his approving 
notes, as Jeannette Evarts nestled her little head next 
the warm heart that loved her best in all this world. 

Had they forgotten this lovely spot and its happy 
associations? Far from it. Again they sat there on 
this, another spring morning, and smiles were on 
their faces and smiles were in their hearts. As they 
looked out on the world around them, they saw and 
felt that God above was also smiling in all his works 
beneath. Henry and Jeannette were also silent. 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


143 


Silent? Aye, fair reader, and would you know the 
cause ? Find your answer in the query — “ Do you not 
remember some period in your own past life, some 
moment of beatitude, when the heart was too full for 
aught but silence ? When nothing could enhance, but 
a word or sound might break the ecstatic spell ? ” 

We hope you have. Such seasons are the green spots 
on the arid desert — the oases on the barren waste of 
human life. They visit us seldom, but they do come, 
in time, to almost every immortal soul, and are given by 
God to man as a foretaste of heaven. Jeannette Evarts 
was happy. She thought not just then of the shadow 
that had fallen on the beauty of her home : she heeded 
not just then the low mutter of a storm that hung down 
low on the horizon : she saw not the cloud that veiled 
her future. She lived in the Present. 

Looking up into the fond eyes that were gazing down 
into hers, she only knew that the star of love was 
beaming on her, and, with a pure but impassioned soul, 
she was dazzled by its brilliancy. As the earth beneath 
reflects the light of the heavens above, and these com- 
bined reflect the great Creator’s smile, so did her face, 
resplendent with beauty and love, reflect the glory 
of the soul within. There they sat, hand in hand, 
their souls in silent communion, commingling. He.^ the 
strong man of intellect, eager to meet and ready to 
solve mysterious problems; tenderly watching and 
adoring; bending the knee at the shrine of innocence 
and beauty, recognizing his love as the ruling passion 
of his life and the sway of his soul; willing, if called 
upon, to set aside every other consideration — pride, 


144 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


ambition, fame ; yea, every thing, for the object of his 
adoration, bent to his idol. She^ loving, confiding; 
trusting him with life, honor, happiness; clinging as 
the tender vine to the strong oak, looked up to him 
and felt that he was the greatest of her earthly all. 

Anon, Henry’s mind took a hurried glance at the 
past. He saw himself again, a little, curly-haired boy 
sitting on his father’s knee: recalled his school days, 
his college life, and its struggles: his happy meeting 
after three years absence with the loved one at his 
side : all the subsequent events, and dwelt on the 
happy memories of mutual confidence and love. And 
then — a shade of uneasiness and anxiety swept over 
his face, for the apparition of a cold, unbending father 
passed before his mental vision, and seemed to beckon 
him away from his Eden. The shadow on his features 
did not pass unnoticed by the loving girl at his side, 
for looking up tenderly into his eyes, she inquired : 

“ Are you not happy, dear Henry ? ” 

“ I could not be unhappy, Jeannette, when by your 
side, and yet I can not say I am truly and wholly 
happy.” 

“ Why? do we not love each other?” 

‘‘I know that you love me, Jeannette, and the 
knowledge of this love brings a joy to my heart which 
it could never have known in this world without it. 
I love you, as the star of my hope and happiness, and 
my love for you is paramount to every other consider- 
ation of earth. You are my only hope of earthly 
felicity. Upon one issue have I built my castles. 
That issue is the fulfilment of our matrimonial engage- 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


145 


ment. If any evil were to come between ns, if auglit 
should ever cause a separation between us, my castles 
would crumble, my every hope be blighted, and life 
made intolerably miserable. It is this that makes me 
tremble, and brings a momentary chill on my heart.” 

“ Why indulge such imaginings ? No evil will 
come between us: nothing will cause a separation. 
Your castle will not crumble if my truth and my love 
can make them firm. My loved one does not doubt 
my constancy.” 

“No, Jeannette. I would sdoner doubt my own sanity 
than your love. Yet when I remember how entirely, 
during my whole life, my happiness depends upon the 
continuance of our mutual affection, and the fulfilment 
of our engagement, I cannot help being impressed with 
a sense of fear lest some evil agency should draw you 
from me. It is not that I doubt the depths of your 
feeling or sincerity. I know that you are all that is 
noble, pure, gentle and good, and you have never even 
dreamed of trifling with me. Still it is possible that 
our hopes may never be realized; and my mind can 
even now caU up circumstances which are capable of 
working changes in the very best of human affections, 
These changes bring misery, blighted hopes, and this 
is death — a death of the heart, a blotting out of the 
prospect of happiness, a withering of love’s roses, a 
drying up of the fount of hope.” 

“ I cannot imagine any circurnstances, dear Henry, 
that could work any changes in the feelings of my 
heart toward you.” 

9 


146 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


“ Are there no circumstances, Jeannette, that could 
shake your purpose of becoming my wife ? ” 

“ Why do you ask ? I know of nothing that would 
influence me to withhold the hand I promised you 
unless it was that you had ceased to love me.” 

“ Cease to love you ! Cease to love you, my own 
Jeannette? This heart will for ever cease its pulsations 
when it loves you no more. Think again. Is there 
nothing that would affect your purpose ? ” 

“ It is needless to think. I am yours now, wholly 
and fondly, and so will I ever be until I die.” 

“And I am yours, heart, soul and life. * Let me see, 
however, whether I can not present to your mind some 
contingences under which jou would falter. Suppose 
that some degrading or horrible crime had been com- 
mitted in the vicinity, and that circumstantial evidence 
fixed on me so conclusive!}^ the guilt that my best 
friends and even my own father believed me the crimi- 
nal, what would be your course in such an event? ” 

“ Such a case is unreasonable, for it is barely within 
the range of possibility. But were you placed in such 
a situation, I should not hesitate. I would doubt the 
reality of my own senses before I could believe you 
guilty of anything dishonorable, and should every 
friend you have on earth forsake you, I should cling 
the closer for your being left alone.” 

“ You would still be willing to marry me?” 

“ I should hasten the ceremony, dearest, that I might 
be with you to comfort.” 

“Jeannette, you are an angel. But let us suppose 
further. What if your father were to violently oppose 
the consummation of our wishes ? ” 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


147 


“ My father, Henry, rather than oppose, would 
encourage any step that would perfect or enhance the 
happiness of his daughter.” 

“ What if he thought that your happiness would be 
jeopardized by our union, and opposed from motives of 
affection ? ” 

“ I would disabuse his mind of its paradox.” 

“ But suppose you were unable ? ” 

“ Then, Henry, I would tell him that I loved him 
with all my heart and would be willing to die to secure 
his happiness, but that my faith and love had been 
plighted in the sight of heaven, and that I could not 
falsify them. I would be true to you.” 

“ One more case, dear, darling Jeannette, and I am 
done. What if my father, guided or influenced by a 
boundless and inconsiderate ambition — imagining that 
the fulfilment of certain hopes would be facilitated by 
uniting, through me, his house with that of a most 
distinguished man of the nation, had arranged for me 
to marry his daughter, and on this ground set himself 
between us; and that I, refusing to conform to his 
wishes, still clung to you with all the love of which my 
soul is capable, what would be your feelings and how 
would you act under those circumstances ? ” 

“ Henry, dear Henry, what is the matter ? You are 
pale, and the hand that clasps mine is cold and tremu- 
lous.” 

“ Nothing ; what would you do, Jeannette ? ” 

“ Oh ! Henry, why do you ask such strange ques- 
tions? You make me so unhappy.” 

“ What would you do, Jeannette ?” 


148 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


“ I would love you with all my heart, just as I do 
now; but I could never allow myself to be forced upon 
him as his daughter, and would not become your wife 
while he lived.” 

“ Suppose, after your rejection under the circum- 
stances, I still fondly loved you, and refused to second 
the wishes of my father, or be an instrument in his 
hand ; and for this he were to break every natural tie, 
and cast me out on the world penniless and alone, and 
I were to come to you then and ask you to share my 
hard fortune and my poverty, what would be your 
answer, Jeannette ? ” 

“ Wealth would he poverty without your love. Poverty 
would he wealth if we hut shared it together,^"* 


MYETLE LAWN. 


149 


CHAPTER XVIL 

COMPLICITIES DEEPEN. 

T3REVIOUS to the sad disappointment of her 
X brother’s hopes and his unhappy banishment, 
Jeannette Evarts had never known a sorrow. Her sym- 
pathy in her brother’s misery was the only shadow that 
had ever dimmed the brightness of her way. She had 
lived in a beautiful home where her slightest wish was 
anticipated ; surrounded by everything that was beau- 
tiful in nature and elegant in art, and fondled and 
caressed by a doting old father and tender brother. 
Had she lived under less favorable auspices she still 
would have been happy; for they say that the “good ” 
are happy, and her mind and heart were as pure and as 
guileless as it is possible for mortal’s to be. Her 
brother’s misfortune and his continued absence from 
home impressed her with an intense sadness, but when 
she became satisfied in, her mind of the purity and vir- 
tue of the object of his affections, and still later when 
she had received a letter from him with the assurance 
of his welfare, and that he would sometime return to 
his home, her spirits reacted, hope revived, and she felt 
that all will be bright again. 

Jeannette loved Henry with all the strength of her 
pure young heart, and in the artless simplicity of her 
nature she did not try to conceal from him any part of 
the fact. When he was off at his law studies, her 


160 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


thoughts were with him daily, and her heart would 
swell with its emotions of tenderness and love as she 
blushingly contemplated the future prospect. At the 
appointed time he had returned master of the profes- 
sion he had chosen, and having realized the high hopes 
of his proud father and numerous friends. 

During a fortnight or more he had spent quite all 
his leisure hours at the Lawn, and though there was 
one serious drawback to his happiness, and one serious 
cause of unhappiness to Jeannette in the absence of 
her brother and the attendant circumstances, yet, when 
seated together in the beautiful arbor of flowers, or 
in the quiet parlor, or promenading the walks of the 
Lawn at the soft hour of twilight, or wandering in the 
greenwood by the lake they forgot everything else but 
their love for one another, and were just as happy as 
two hearts could be. Often, however, when alone after 
one of these seasons of love and happiness a cloud 
would oppress the young man’s heart, for he could 
not forget the letter his father had written him while 
in Boston, in which were the words : “ If you persist 

in carrying out your insane intention, you are no longer 
a son of mine, but must rely on your own resources 
for a livelihood.” 

Henry Melton knew his father’s unbending nature 
and the steadfastness of his purposes when he had once 
fully determined. The ominous words haunted him 
in his dreams, and rested like a nightmare upon his 
breast. It was not so much for the loss of fortune with 
which he was threatened that he cared. This was com- 
paratively nothing to Jeannette’s love. What he feared 


MYETLE LAWN. 


151 


and dreaded most was the effect which a knowledge of 
this opposition on his father’s part would have upon 
her. Would not her pride and delicacy naturally 
revolt against their union under the circumstances? 
He could not doubt it, notwithstanding he knew that 
she loved him with her whole heart ; besides this, he had 
scruples of his own about asking her to become his 
wife in case his father continued inflexible. If the 
threat of disinheritance were carried into execution, he 
would, in case of his marriage, be forced to live, at 
least for a while, as a dependant at Myrtle Lawn. Or 
he must take her away from her doting old father and 
beautiful home to share with him his struggles against 
poverty and want among strangers. Would this be 
right? Would this be honorable? He doubted it. 
Before he had returned from Boston he had fondly 
hoped that his father would relent, and if he could not 
approve, might at least consent to his marriage with 
Jeannette. Shortly after his arrival at home he ven- 
tured one morning to hint something of the subject 
next his heart. 

The rebuff he met with was so positive and deter- 
mined, that he was glad to change the conversation, and 
shrank from further allusion, with an undefinable dread 
of bringing on a catastrophe which he now felt must, 
yet hoped would not occur. Henry Melton knew not 
what to do. He felt it to be a sacred duty he owed to 
Jeannette, to let her know of his father’s opposition, 
but he well knew this unexpected intelligence would 
mortify and grieve her gentle spirit, and how could he 
do it? His anxiety and perplexity daily increased 


152 


MTETLE LAWN. 


until at last he resolved ‘that he would tell her all. 
With this determination he sought her on the beautiful 
spring morning we last saw them together, and led her 
to the moss rock near the lake where he had first told 
her of his love. When he sat there, however, with her 
hand in his, surrounded by influences which he had not 
the power to resist, he gave loose reins to happy feelings, 
and forgot for a while the delicate and unhappy, yet 
honorable object for which he had sought the interview. 
Even when the subject did force itself upon him, he 
could not summon quite enough moral firmness to tell 
her all, but compromised the matter by giving her 
vague hints, which he felt would prepare her mind for 
the fuller disclosure which he intended should be made 
on their next meeting. In the excitement produced on 
her mind, and the embarrassment occasioned by the 
strangeness of his questions, she did not understand 
the motive that prompted the inquiries ; nor did she at 
the time have a clearly defined suspicion that they bore 
any particular significance. Afterwards, however, 
when he had left her, and she was alone in her room 
thinking of the conversation they had just held, her 
suspicions began to awaken, and the more she pondered 
the subject the more confirmed became her perplexity 
and distress. Jeannette Evarts coupled the agitation 
of her lover with her knowledge of his father’s charac- 
ter, and a sensation of fear and trembling seized upon 
her, and for the first time since she had given her heart 
and pledged her hand to Henry Melton she realized the 
possibility of a separation and a broken heart. A 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


153 


change came stealing o’er the spirit of her dream. A 
cloud was lowering over her way. 

Thus far we have seen but one side of Jeannette’s 
character. We have seen her as a pure, unassuming, 
warm, joyous child of impulse. Without deception or 
artifice, we know her as credulous and confiding. We 
have been with her in her happy home, and seen her 
almost secluded from society, and therefore free from 
the influence of its frivolous gayeties. She had com- 
paratively few acquaintances; for, unlike most other 
young girls of her age in wealth and station, she had 
never been sent off to the fashionable boarding schools 
of the day, and had spent little of her time in the 
great city, whose spires were almost within sight of her 
home. If she knew little of those polite nothings, the 
vain coquetries, silly ceremonies, and idle flirtations 
that so often characterize the fashionable habitu^ of 
city society, she knew less of its jealousies, its intrigues 
and its heart burnings. Her soul was expanded and 
her mind ennobled though she had scarce an instruct- 
ress save Nature, and no guide but the dictates of her 
own pure soul. 

Surrounded by all that was lovely and pure, her 
young life flowed gently and joyously, she growing up 
the while like some beautiful wild flower blooming in 
rich luxuriance beneath a southern dine. Her manner, 
so unstudied, was generally thoughtless but graceful, 
easy and happy ; for she acted from the impulse of a 
heart that was all purity, love and lightness. And yet 
beneath the surface of her life there was a profound 
undercurrent of sensibility and feeling ; a woman’s 


154 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


soul that was full of heroism, a heart that was capable 
of enduring and suffering, and ready to meet misfor- 
tune with calm dignity and strength, and to combat 
sorrow with meekness and faith. Jeannette was as 
good as she was beautiful, and her beauty would have 
done justice to the poet’s dream. 

When the first cloud began to darken the future 
horizon and cast flieir sombre shadows on her coming 
life, she gave not way to outbursts of passionate grief, 
but listening calmly to the low mutterings of the dis- 
tant storm, and looking away beyond the darkness to 
the Divine light above, buckled on her shield — faith, 
and awaited quietly its coming. This faith in her life 
was beautiful. It was not the result of study ; it was 
the prime essence of her being, and was by choice a 
part of after education. Theology with her was not 
scholastic, revealed or speculative. It was natural. 
She was taught the truth by her goddess Nature, and 
she saw the wisdom of the Omnipotent in the beauty 
of his works, and witnessed his goodness in his smiles 
on his creatures. Her virtue and her faith were Ortho- 
dox, and yet, though she delighted to obey the divine 
injunction “ Search the scriptures,” her faith was not 
the result of those researches, for before she was able 
to comprehend the “ great plan,” she had learned the 
beautiful lesson in the open book of Nature, and the 
truth was only confirmed, not awakened by scriptural 
revelations. 

Next to this faith which was the ruling principle of 
her soul, and the covenant that bound her to her God, 
was her love for Henry Melton. The one was the 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


155 


medium of eternal bliss; the other of all earthly 
hopes and happiness. It dated its existence back to 
the very days of her childhood. The bud that had its 
incipient blush in the first bloom of girlhood, had 
expanded and blown into a beautiful flower which shed 
a sweet fragrance and a hallowed influence over life. 
We have watched the serene beauty and loveliness of 
her character, and we have seen the brightness of 
young love’s dream undimmed by a shadow until doubt 
and misgiving were awakened in her mind by that 
ominous conversation with her lover. That conversa- 
tion she felt to be the harbinger of misfortune ; but, 
while she saw the shadow of the coming evil she 
resolved to be firm, nor did she give way to useless 
repinings or bitter grief; but Hope sustained by Faith 
— Faith seeing through the darkness buoyed up the 
sinking heart and cast a gleam amid the gloom. 

Henry Melton’s mind was to some extent relieved by 
his conversation with Jeannette. He had prepared her 
to receive as an unhappy fact that which he had merely 
hinted at as a possibility. He had held up to her view 
contingencies under which the most ardent attachments 
would be likely to falter, and he had heard from her 
own lips that she would be firm and constant. And 
while he deplored bitterly the untoward circumstances 
which were likely to put that heroism to the test, he 
felt great comfort in the blessed assurance that she 
would be faithful, and that no time or change of fortune 
could affect her love for him. Every thought and 
feeling were almost forgotten in this happy reflection. 
It is true that his heart bled with bitter sorrow at the 


156 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


estrangement which threatened to exist between his 
father and himself, and he determined to use every 
method and means he^could devise to avert it. As to 
the loss of pecuniary means which he felt would cer- 
tainly follow this prospective estrangement, he was not 
so much concerned from selfish considerations as he 
was on Jeannette’s account. He had heard since his 
return from Boston that the pecuniary affairs of Mr. 
Evarts were in a critical condition, and he would now 
doubly deplore his own loss of means since it would 
deprive him of the power to relieve the embarrass- 
ments of his dear old friend. As yet Henry had not 
entirely despaired of gaining his father’s consent to 
his marriage. Combining his knowledge of his deter- 
mined character with his remembrance of what had 
already passed, he hardly hoped ever to obtain his 
approval, and yet when he thought of his being an only 
child; that his happiness must naturally be to his 
father the next dearest object in life to his own ; that 
he had always been dutiful, and had never, except in 
this one particular, attempted to thwart a single wish 
of his father’s ; that in him were centered all his ambi- 
tious hopes, and that an estrangement would effectually 
end these hopes — he could not quite believe that his 
father would madly persevere in a course which would 
not only deprive him of an only son, but would blight 
that son’s happiness for all time to come. Henry pre- 
pared his mind for the worst, and resolved on putting 
an end to his miserable suspense by having an imme- 
diate interview with his father, which should be conclu- 
sive and final. 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


157 


Firmly fixed in this purpose he reached the mansion 
about noon, after leaving Jeannette on the occasion of 
his last conversation with her, and with a heart full of 
anxiety, he sought his father. Instead of finding him, 
however, he was met by a servant of the establishment 
who handed him a letter, in the superscription of which 
he immediately recognized his father’s handwriting. 
With a good deal of surprise manifest in the tone of 
his voice he hurriedly inquired : 

“ Why, what does this mean, William ? This letter 
is from my father. Is he not at home ? ” 

“No sir. He sent for you here about the middle of 
the forenoon not knowing that you had gone out, and 
when he found that you were nowhere about home he 
seemed surprised and troubled. A short while after- 
wards he rang for me and handed me this letter, direct- 
ing me to place it in your hands myself, immediately 
on your return. In a few minutes, having ordered his 
carriage, he was driven off towards the city.” 

Henry Melton opened the letter and read : 

“ My son, I am called off on business to New York 
to-day, and will not be back sooner than the day after 
to-morrow. I intended seeing you this morning but 
you unexpectedly absented yourself, and I can not 
await you. I received a note from the Hon. William 
Glennmore late last evening, in which he informs me 
that he is about to go on a little pleasure trip with 
his family and one or two select friends. His route, I 
believe, is down the Potomac to Acquia Creek, and 


158 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


thence through certain historic portions of Virginia. 
He expects to spend a few days in Richmond and will 
return to Washington after passing through the valley 
of the Shenandoah. He does you the marked honor of 
sending with his compliments an invitation to. you to 
join him and his pleasure party. Of course you will 
go, and cannot fail to appreciate the distinguished 
honor he has conferred upon you. I can safely venture 
to say that you are the only young man of your age 
who has been the recipient of such favor at the hands 
of Mr. Glennmore, and I have no doubt you will 
deport yourself in a manner becoming the occasion 
and the circumstances. I can but esteem it as most 
highly fortunate that the opportunity has been so soon 
afforded you of bringing yourself in such an auspicious 
manner under the almost immediate notice of Presi- 
dent Grant. I say of the President, for it is unreason- 
able to suppose that in this age of gossip the affair can 
pass without its being spoken of in his hearing. You 
will see then the importance of making a favorable 
impression, and I do not doubt that your demeanor 
will be such as to enhance the already high opinion 
which the Hon. Mr. Glennmore and others even now 
entertain of your moral and intellectual worth. You 
are expected to be at Glennmore Place by ten o’clock 
in the morning, soon after which hour the party will 
proceed on their tour of pleasure. I need hardly wish 
you a pleasant and profitable time. You cannot fail to 
make such of the trip. I do not know how long you 
will be gone, and being ignorant of the state of your 
finances, I enclose you a bank check for five hundred 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


159 


dollars, which if you find insufficient to meet your 
requirements can be increased to any amount you may 
desire by draft on my House in the city. 


“ Your father, 


“ E. Melton.” 


Henry found himself still further embarrassed. At 
almost any other time, and under ordinary circum- 
stances the invitation would have been received with 
pride and accepted with much pleasure. As it was he 
knew that in his present state of mind he could not 
enjoy himself away from Jeannette, and while he felt 
compelled to respond to the invitation he was really 
sorry it had been sent. The thought of being sepa- 
rated even for a short time from Jeannette just then 
was in itself a sufficient cause of unhappiness, but in 
addition to this he felt that his father’s letter had dis- 
pelled almost the last vestige of hope which he had 
entertained of his ever relenting or consenting to his 
marriage with Jeannette. He was very unhappy, but 
•he was equally self-possessed. 

Having decided on going, he proceeded to make all 
necessary preparations for the visit, and resolved to 
submit patiently to the unavoidable delay in the pro- 
posed interview with his father. That interview he 
now more than ever dreaded, but was fully determined 
to carry out his intentions immediately on his return 
home, and let the consequences be what they might, 
he would meet them with firmness and decision. 
Though he was to start very early next morning he 
felt he could not leave without again seeing Jean- 
nette and unfolding to her the real situation of affairs. 


160 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


He had business which kept him closely engaged until 
about twilight; but when at that hour he repaired to 
Myrtle Lawn, his unhappy condition of mind was inten- 
sified by being informed that Jeannette was indisposed 
and had retired to her room. He retraced his steps to 
Melton Mansion, and after writing a long letter to 
Jeannette in which he told her all, retired to his room 
and to bed, but his mind was so agitated by conflict- 
ing doubts, hopes and fears that it was long past the 
“ noon of night when sleep visited his restless pillow. 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


161 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

AN UNWELCOME LETTER. 

T he April evening was all that beautiful spring 
could make it. The sun was sinking in the west, 
but his raj^s still flooded the lake with a golden light, 
and the bright waters gleamed through the dark foliage 
of woodbine and honeysuckle and nourished on the 
grassy bank, the water-lilies and roses. 

Birds perched in the leafy boughs of tall trees and 
flowery shrubs, caroled their sweetest notes; flocks 
grazed on the gentle hill-slopes or green meadows; 
bells jingled on the quiet air, and the perfume of a 
thousand -hued flowers stole through the windows of 
lovely Myrtle Lawn. 

Jeannette hardly saw the picture, hardly felt the 
scented zephyrs that played with the brown ringlets 
dancing on cheek and forehead. Her eye gazed far 
beyond the scene into undefined space, and the tear 
that glistened on the long eye-lash, told a story of sad 
thoughts. Jeannette’s brow was cold, her cheeks were 
pale, and the lips quivered with hardly suppressed 
emotions. No sigh or word of complaint escaped her, 
and yet there was a bitter story of blighted hopes in 
that silent tear that ever and anon trickled down the 
fair, pale cheek, and fell on an open letter that lay on 
her lap. 

10 


162 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


“ Melton Mansion, April — , 1875. 

“Miss Jeannette Eyarts: — When I tell you that 
I know this letter will give you pain, it is hardly 
necessary for me to add that it is a most unpleasant 
task for me to write it. 

“ You can not be ignorant of the fact that I should 
sympathize with you in any trouble, when you are so 
well aware of the mutual feelings of friendship and 
affection that have for a long series of years existed 
between your father and myself. Exclusive of this, 
Jeannette, I have always regarded you with an affection 
almost parental, and nothing would now impel me to 
the course I pursue, but an urgent sense of justice to 
myself and duty to others. Painful then as my task is, 
I must not be deterred from its performance. 

“Before I enter on it, I must first beg that 3^ou 
mention this letter or its subject to no living person. 
There are two from whom I am particularly anxious it 
should be kept a most profound secret. Those two are 
your father, and my son. The knowledge of it would 
wound the spirit of the former, and heaven knows I 
would not unnecessarily give him one pang of pain. 
My reasons for wishing it kept from the latter, will 
appear obvious to your mind as you proceed in this 
perusal, if in fact you have not already divined them. 

“ I believe you have guessed the subject of this letter 
to be concerning the engagement said to exist between 
yourself and my son. Had I been consulted prior to 
the engagement, there would never have been any 
occasion for this letter, and the source of all the trouble 
would in all likelihood have been obviated. But I was 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


163 


not informed that any such compact was about to be 
entered into, and the first intimation I had of the 
contemplated alliance was the information that the 
contract had already been agreed upon. I hope you 
will not attach any. blame or wanton neglect to my son 
for my ignorance in the affair, for — as he told me 
when he informed me of the engagement — he had no 
doubt that I would readily and cheerfully give my 
sanction to his marriage with the daughter of my 
earliest and dearest friend. It is not at all astonishing 
that he should have been surprised when I informed 
him that the engagement was not in exact accordance 
with my wishes ; for he knew that in addition to the tie 
of friendship that bound my house and your father’s, I 
had ever regarded you as one in whom all the qualities 
of gentleness, amiability and loveliness were combined 
in most beautiful perfection. 

“ Had I no hopes of seeing my son rise to a far higher 
position in life than it is possible for his father ever to 
attain, nothing would be more grateful to my feelings 
than to see him wedded with one so pure, so innocent 
and so attractive as yourself. But from his very child- 
hood — yea, from his very infancy, when I saw him 
sleeping an unconscious babe upon his mother’s bosom, 
I destined him for an exalted station in life, and prayed 
that I might see him a shining light in the great polit- 
ical world, reflecting lustre on the name of Melton. 
That hope, as he advanced in strength and years, grew 
stronger and brighter within me until it has become 
the basis of my happiness and the chief study of my 


164 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


existence. Without it, my life would be tame and 
aimless. 

“ Henry, too, is ambitious. I saw the germ in his 
earlier years, and I watched it grow into a healthful 
plant, which I watered and nourished that it might 
strengthen and some day expand into a mighty tree 
that would take root and branch in the very fibres of 
his being. My labors, though partially successful, have 
not been as wholly so as I might have desired, and you 
cannot wonder that I have used every effort which I 
could devise ta facilitate his progress and ensure his 
advancement. 

“Among other things, I had contracted for him a 
matrimonial engagement with the daughter of one of 
the very first men in the nation, whose influence at the 
head of the Government, together with my son’s 
wealth and accomplishments, would have been an 
almost sure passport to some high and honorable 
position. The arrangement alluded to was never openly 
acknowledged, but it was tacitly understood, and it 
dates its existence back to a period prior to any 
engagement entered into between you and Henry. 
The former then you will, I think, acknowledge is 
entitled to .primary consideration on the claim of its 
priority, and renders the second null and void, since 
two engagements of the kind cannot honorably co- 
exist. 

“ But I will not offend you by arguing the point. I 
know you possess a refined sensibility and a delicate 
sense of honor, and I do not for one moment imagine 
that you would urge or even allow the fulfillment of an 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


165 


engagement wliich you know would be not only 
unsanctioned by me, but which would in all probability 
destroy the hopes and aims of my life. 

“ You may ask, whether, in case this engagement of 
yours were broken, the other would likely be fulfilled. 
I answer that there is in my mind scarcely a doubt that 
my plans would be carried out. I do not think that my 
son would immediately enter into my plans or embrace 
my views ; for I unhesitatingly declare it my opinion that 
he loves you now far more than he does any one else. 
Still I do not doubt but that, if an insurmountable 
obstacle were placed between you, his love would soon 
assume the nature of that which exists between a 
brother and sister, and being divested of its passion, he 
would be enabled to see the incalculable advantages to 
be derived from this alliance which I have in prospect 
for him. 

“With all respect then, and with the repeated 
assurance of my affectionate regards and my high 
opinion of your character for its qualities of amiability, 
loveliness and purity, I propose to dissolve this engage- 
ment that exists between you and my son. This can 
only be done by yourself. I have used all the infiuence 
I can bring to bear upon him. I have told him that he 
must conform to my wishes, and have even threatened 
him with absolute disinheritance unless he complies. 
Blinded and infatuated as he is by his passion, he still 
clings to the hope of making you his wife, and by his 
conduct silently proclaims his purpose of risking my 
eternal displeasure and the disinheritance with which 
he is threatened. I say ‘ threatened,’ for it was only a 


166 


M Y E T L E L A N . 


threat. I could not cast him off penniless, no matter 
what might be his offence ; and though, with a wilful 
disregard of my wishes and feelings, he were to be 
guilty of any act which would stamp him a base ingrate, 
he would lose in a great measure my affection for him, 
yet he would still bear the Melton name, and as my 
son would be my sole inheritor. 

“ I know you too well to be afraid that the prospect of 
sharing this wealth with my son, could influence you to 
desist from the performance of a duty which your sense 
of justice to yourself, to me, and to my son, require at 
your hands. This act of duty will, I know, be unpleas- 
ant to you, Jeannette, but I hope and believe that the 
pain will be of short duration. How much better 
would it be so, if even for a time you suffer acutely, 
than for your marriage with Henry to take place, and 
after a brief period of happiness, you saw your roman- 
tic visions fade into stale, sober reality, and even found 
that you were being less loved because you had been 
an instrument — however passive — to hold him back 
from the height to which, in a moment of cool reflec- 
tion, his ambition would point. 

“ I repeat that I have no doubt but that at this time, 
Henry loves you with all the capacity of his heart, and 
that he would — as long as you hold out the hope to 
him of becoming his wife — be willing to make any 
sacrifice for your sake — fortune, everything, and in his 
blindness and his madness, dare even death itself. But, 
Jeannette, this is not the love that would endure: it is 
passion. And when, after a season, the hot blood of 
youth would be tempered down by calm reasoning and 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


167 


increasing years and cares, the scales would fall from 
his eyes, he would worship you no longer and not only 
not be the passionate adorer, but might almost accuse 
you in his mind of mercenary motives in allowing 
yourself to become his wife, since that act cut off the 
sure prospect of preferment held out to him by this 
union which I have planned. I believe that you will 
feel the truth of this reasoning, and I can not for one 
moment think that you will knowingly oppose my 
wishes in this matter, and come between me and the 
accomplishment of aims upon which all my hopes and 
happiness depend for all time. 

“ Again then, do I say, let this engagement between 
you and my son be dissolved, and I repeat that it can 
only be done b}^ yourself. If you are at a loss how to 
act, I will give you some suggestions. I wish you, 
however, to bear in mind the importance of keeping 
this letter a profound secret from him. I suppose he 
has informed you of my disapprobation. If so, and 
you still hold out to him hopes, conditionally or other- 
wise, let him know immediately on his return that you 
have reflected on the subject during his absence, and 
that you have come to the conclusion that you cannot, 
consistently with your convictions of duty, justice and 
propriety, fulfill the engagement which is distasteful 
to me. 

“ Encourage his visits no more, and if he urges his 
claim, and declares his willingness to give up all pros- 
pect of fortune for your sake, be you likewise firm and 
tell him that you will not allow him to make this 
sacrifice for you, even if your happiness for life 


168 


MYRTLE LAWN 


depended upon it — which I assure you does not. 
At first, he will appear — and doubtless will be — 
unhappy, and unless you fortify yourself, his despair 
may move you. You may for the time, suffer a good 
deal in controlling your feelings, but in the end it will 
all be decidedly for the best. When the storm is over 
and your skies are all bright again, Henry shall know 
the sacrifice you so generously and disinterestedly made 
for him, and he will love you as a dear sister, while you 
in all probability will be wedded with one who will 
render your life far more uniformly happy than he 
would do. 

“And now I close, and I do so with a perfect confi- 
dence that your magnanimity will prompt an unhesi- 
tating compliance with my wishes herein set forth ; in 
which case you will have the everlasting gratitude of 
one who flatters himself that his friendship, shared by 
so few, is not entirely worthless. 

“ I have the honor to be 

“ Yours truly, 

“E. Melton.” 

The evil had come: it was no longer the shadow. 
The storm in all its blackness and fury had lowered 
o’er her life, and its gloom obscured almost every ray 
of earthly hope and happiness. The heart of the 
young maiden was well nigh broken, and no glad sun- 
light beamed on her way — no ray save that Divine 
Light which the eye of Faith discerned beyond the 
future of the world. From her very childhood she had 
innocently loved — had cherished dreams which had 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


169 


been her happiness, and converted earth into an Eden, 
while all the way, as she glided down the beautiful 
current of her life, an image had been growing on her 
heart until it had been fixed and established there, her 
earthly idol. With scarce the whisper of a warning 
voice, those dreams had been broken — the sweet cup 
dashed from her lips — the fondest hopes of her young 
life shattered, and bitter disappointment fraught with 
anguish was the realization, while the future seemed a 
dreary wilderness, with no green spot or bright flowers 
blooming on the desert wilds. 


170 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

CURRENT COIN OF CONVERSATION. 

I T is hardly within our province to follow the Glenn- 
more party in their tour of pleasure. It is true 
the scenery along the banks of the Potomac is grand 
and picturesque, and that there are many points of 
interest all along its shores ; but these have been so 
often and so graphically described that nothing we 
might add would be new. We might stand with 
Henry Melton and Ellen Glennmore on the renowned 
old heights of Fredericksburg, and look over the far 
stretching plains and the green meadows through which 
flows historic old Rappahanock ; might look with them 
upon broad fields of growing grain, or waving grass 
and opening flowers ; or down upon happy homes in 
whose peaceful shelter are happy hearts. 

Yet, as the e^^e catches sight of a battered wall or a 
splintered tree, there steals upon us the mournful mem- 
ory of an agonizing time that we would fain forget. 
We know of a day when these same old heights rever- 
berated with the thunders of a thousand guns. We 
remember a time when those far stretching plains 
resounded with the din and the shouts, with the roar 
and the wails of contending armies and dying men. 
We can tell of a day when those same fields of growing 
grain and waving grass and opening flowers were 
covered — not with these marks of peace and thrift — 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


171 


but with the marks of a horrible internecine strife that 
made the land all red and gory. That bright river so 
calmly flowing through yon lovely valley was then 
stained with the crimson tide of brothers’ blood com- 
mingled. From those horrors over yonder, now all 
quiet and peaceful, there rang out their cries of 
anguish and terror. 

The gentle zephyr bears upon its breath the sweet 
perfume of opening flowers, and there steals upon our 
senses a feeling of relief; just then we wonder if that 
same flower borrowed any of its crimson tint from the 
soil it fed on, that soil once so red and gory. These 
are harrowing memories. We would turn from them. 

W e might follow the party in their rides over the 
fields around Richmond, which have made the name of 
Virginia’s historic city immortal ; but in those memor- 
able “ seven days ” of blood and horror, we saw too 
much of anguish and woe that the retrospection should 
be pleasant. We saw, it is true, deeds of dauntless 
daring; deeds of self-immolation; deeds of heroism 
that made us think better of ourselves, and love our 
fellow-men. Let these memories be undying : all else 
forgotten be. We might journey with them in their 
wanderings through Shenandoah’s gorgeous vales and 
o’er her splendid mountains, the fairest region that the 
sun ever shone on ; that land whose beauty we will 
not mar by an attempt at description. What pen can 
depict the beauties of that land of magnificent moun- 
tains, of beautiful valleys, of sparkling rivers, of lovely 
villages, of glowing fields, of happy hours and generous 
hearts? We can not forget them. But there are other 


172 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


memories connected with that land which also will 
ever remain with us. 

As we stand with Henry Melton and Ellen Glenn- 
more, on the range of mighty hills that overlook the 
valleys of Strasbourg, we think of a time when those 
same hills glistened with the bayonets of ten thousand 
Confederate soldiers, and those plains were convulsed 
with the wild thunders of battle. We think of the 
wicked but dauntless and unflinching old hero. Early ; 
with his right hand man, Ramseur, standing by him, 
the embodiment of the Christian virtues, a perfect gen- 
tleman, a thorough Chesterfield, with a heart as brave 
and as true, and as noble as ever lived in any land. 
With our mind’s eye now we .see them just as we once 
in reality saw them, withstanding the onslaughts of 
the dashing Sheridan and his far outnumbering hosts. 
The skilled old soldier and brave old hero Early, with 
possibly an oath on his lips, gave his commands ; while 
from the heart of Ramseur issued a silent prayer as, 
with a quiet determined smile on his handsome young 
face, he gave his directions in the calmest possible man- 
ner, and with the smoothest gesture. Oh, that the 
memory might be arrested here. 

A little later the scene changed. We ride along the 
turnpike just behind the one who sloAvly follows his 
hopelessly routed forces, and we see the silent tears 
coursing down the rugged old soldier’s cheeks, and in 
the bitterness of mortified pride, he hears not, heeds 
not the whistling bullets or the whizzing shells. From 
the other there comes upon the breezes a mournful 
message. He is dying. His death was glorious. He 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


173 


saw no defeat. Amid all these shouts of victory; 
amid all those curses of disaster ; amid all that des- 
pair and darkness there was a light about him, and 
from those dying lips that were still wreathed with that 
same peaceful smile, there came these words for the 
young wife. “ Tell my wife I die in the love of Jesus.” 

Those fair meadows and those of grain, and grass, 
and fruit and flowers, tell no tales now of those sor- 
rowful days. The marks of them are all effaced to 
reappear no more forever. So would we have all recol- 
lection blotted out, all save holy memories, and lessons 
taught us by heroic deeds. 

****** 

“ Is it possible that Mr. Melton can be silent in a 
scene like this? Why! even I am impressed with its 
beauties. I, who only two days ago, excited your 
wonder because I could not go into ecstasy over an 
ordinary picture of moonlight which I have witnessed 
a hundred times.” 

“ Suppose, Miss Glennmore, I were to tell you that 
my enthusiasm has been dampened by the conversation 
on the occasion referred to, and that I have been silent 
from fear of a want of sympathy, what would you 
say?” 

“ I would say you were not serious in the assertion, 
because I am quite confident you were almost entirely 
forgetful of my presence when I first spoke.” 

“ In which case, I suppose I should justly lose your 
respect.” 

“ Not necessarily.” 

“ If not, then what apology would Miss Glennmore 


174 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


deem sufficient for my strange and unaccountable 
inattention ? ” 

“ Make your apologies first to these surroundings — 
the birds, the bees, the fish, the fawns, the flowers, the 
fountains, the spraying waters and those rainbow 
hues, and if Dame Nature can pardon your insuscepti- 
bility — ” 

“ Suppose, Miss Glennmore, that I was and am deeply 
impressed with all the beauties around us.” 

“Then I should esteem myself fortunate in being 
generally less susceptible than Mr. Melton, since he, 
almost an enthusiast, only receives from the charms of 
Nature impressions of sadness and melancholy.” 

“ Does Miss Glennmore think that a picture like this 
can inspire any such emotions ? ” 

“I did not so imagine, but when you declare you 
have been deeply impressed by it, I am converted by 
an evidence that is indisputable.” 

“ Will you condescend to explain the nature of that 
evidence?” 

“ Certainly, you say that you are not insensible to 
the beauties around you and that the picture is one of 
perfect loveliness.” 

“I did, and I repeat that I can not recall or scarcely 
imagine one more perfectly enchanting. What, for 
instance, can be more pleasing to the eye than those 
fountains there, casting their fleecy waters high into 
the air, forming pictures of grace and beauty, and 
sparkling in the sunlight bathing all around in the varied 
hues of the rainbow ? ” 

“ Yet, Mr. Melton, awhile ago, you were taking in all 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


175 


this, and it seems to give yon no pleasure, for your face 
was clouded as if with heavy care, and I even fancied 
I heard a sigh. What other conclusion then could I 
arrive at than that you were less susceptible than you 
profess to be, or that the impressions you received were 
those of sadness ? ” 

“ Miss Glennmore seems to ignore altogether the idea 
of association. Might I not have experienced actual 
delight, and drank pleasant draughts from this picture 
of natural and artificial beauty, and in a moment more 
had the cup dashed with bitterness by some memory 
which this scene (probably from its resemblance to 
some other wherewith were connected unpleasant 
associations) had awakened?” 

“ Very true ; but what am I to think of a young man 
who, acting as my escort, would allow himself to be so 
under the control of any thoughts or feelings to such a 
degree as to cause him to forget that I had placed 
myself under his charge or was even by his side ? ” 

“ You must think him ungallant in the extreme, and 
deny him your presence hereafter, unless you give ear 
to an humble prayer for pardon on promise of better 
behavior in future.” 

“ If that prayer be granted, what surety will I have 
that the offence be not repeated?” 

“ I can give Miss Glennmore no other surety than 
my word, unless it be a conditional one, which by the 
way would be hard if he had to forfeit.” 

“May it please you, what may that conditional 
surety be ? ” 

“Nothing less than that if ever the offence be 


176 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


repeated, I submit unmurmuringly to eternal banish- 
ment from your presence.” 

“ Terrible doom ! ” 

“ Terrible indeed ; and if there were any danger of 
a repetition of the offence the gloomy prospect would 
most assuredly be sufficient to keep me on guard with 
my eyes open.” 

“Is my society then so highly appreciated by Mr. 
Melton?” 

“ I assure Miss Glennmore, that I do highly appre- 
ciate the privilege that admits me to her society, and 
consider myself the recipient of distinguished honor in 
being received on terms of such social friendship and 
kindness, by a lady so highly accomplished and so 
universally admired as Senator Glennmore’s brilliant 
daughter.” 

“Then Mr. Melton’s conduct and professions have 
been sadly at variance.” 

“ I shall have to call for another explanation.” 

“And know it is not needed; but, however, Mr. 
Melton speaks of a privilege. It is one of long stand- 
ing, and yet in the past methinks, has not very assidu- 
ously availed himself of it.” 

“Will Miss Glennmore, allow me to remind her that 
I have but very lately returned from the college halls. 
Will she not respect the self-denial I exercised in per- 
mitting myself to be held back by a sense of duty from 
reaching forth to grasp the sweet flowers which the 
gentle hand of friendship held out so invitingly to 
view.” 

“ Pray what duty was it at whose peremptory call 
you made yourself such a martyr?” 


MYETLE LAWN. 


177 


“ It was the duty that bound me to my studies ; that 
bade me avail myself of the advantages that lay within 
my reach of improving the talent that God has given 
me ; of preparing myself, as far as I might be able, to 
be of service to my country and to my fellow-man, and 
to enrich, if possible, my mind and my heart, that I 
might contribute to the pleasure and to the good of 
society in general.” 

“ If such were the motives that restrained you, I do 
respect them ; but in obeying the call, while you were 
learning rhetoric, it seems that you took a few lessons 
in the art of flattery. Did ‘ duty ’ teach from that book 
too?” 

“I trust that Miss Glennmore thinks me hardly 
capable of deajing in such a wicked art. Or if she has 
no better opinion of my heart, I hope she has of my 
head, than, to think that were I especially skilled, I 
would undertake to practice it on one of her acute 
penetration.” 

“ Before I decide, you must inform me, lest I did not 
comprehend, the meaning of your rhetorical figure 
when you spoke of the sweet flowers which the gentle 
hand of friendship, and so on.” 

“ If Miss Glennmore will not be offended, I will ven- 
ture to say she combines a little tyranny with mischiev- 
ousness. But since I am a loyal subject td her pleas- 
ure I will do her bidding, and say that the ‘ friendship’ 
I spoke of was the identical feeling with which I flat- 
tered myself she honored me; the fragrant flowers 
were the many charms of her society, and the hand 
that held them out was the privilege I enjoyed of 
11 


178 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


admittance into that society which is esteemed not only 
agreeable but fascinating.” 

“ Yet that society seems to have lost all its boasted 
charms to-day, or Mr. Melton came prepared to resist 
its fascinating powers.” 

“ On the contrary, I have felt them most forcibly, 
and have enjoyed the walk so much that I shall regret 
exceedingly its termination.” 

“One who noticed your abstraction awhile since 
might have imagined your enjoyment to have been of a 
very singular nature.” 

“Did not the shadow prove only momentary, passing 
away like the flitting cloud of an April morning ? The 
heart must be heavy indeed that could not catch some 
ray from the light of your presence.” , 

“ I hope if Mr. Melton’s has caught the reflection 
the light may not prove like the shadow — evanescent.” 

“ If it were to prove so, I would have but to throw 
myself again within its rays to feel the lustre as I do 
now.” 

“ To hear you talk, one might imagine that this light 
was kept trimmed and burning for your special benefit. 
Suppose the one from whom it emanated, perceiving 
that its effects were merely transient, were to withhold 
its beams, and let it shine on you no longer, what 
then?” 

“Friendship, Miss Glennmore, is its guardian, and 
will not suffer it to be extinguished.” 

“Mr. Melton seems to attach much importance to 
that quality he calls ‘ friendship.’ Does he believe in 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


179 


it as a reality, and that any considerable sacrifice would 
be made for its sake ? ” 

“ I do, and know it to be one of the noblest princi- 
ples of the soul. It is second in power and influence 
to only one other agent of the human bosom. I believe 
it is next to that passion which would enable a man to 
dare death for the one dear object of his love.” 

“ Mr. Melton will please excuse me, but he speaks as 
if he were not a stranger to either feeling. I wonder 
if he is willing to prove the strength and reality of the 
first-named passion by confiding to me his experience 
in the latter ? ” 

“Am I to understand that this is required as an 
evidence of my friendship ? ” 

“By no means; I would not wish to put that all 
absorbing passion to the test if the trial would prove a 
severe one.” 

“ It would cost me nothing to confide in you, were I 
to flatter myself that your feelings were really so kind 
towards me, as to cause you to be interested in my 
little personal affairs.” 

“ If I were to tell you that you may think so without 
any flattery to yourself?” 

“ Then I would tell you that I had loved : — loved 
with all my heart’s capacity for many years a beautiful 
maiden, the embodiment of all that is good, pure and 
lovely. One who in my childhood’s days was my 
happy little associate ; one whose image grew on my 
heart with the passing years, and whose angel-face, 
smiling ever on me, kept me in the paths of duty and 


180 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


rectitude, and furnished all during the tedious 3^ears 
of stud}?- and toil, an ever acting stimulus to honest 
effort.” 

“ She must have been a very superior being indeed, 
if I am to judge from your enthusiasm. Will you 
honor me still further by confiding to me the name of 
this paragon of loveliness ? ” 

“Has Miss Glennmore heard nothing that would 
give her an idea of whom I speak ? ” 

“ Jeannette Evarts ? ” 

“ You have guessed rightly.” 

Ellen Glennmore’s face, which for the last minute 
had been growing pale and anxious, became suddenly 
paler ; the merry mischievous sparkle of her dark eye 
gave way to a cold feelingless lustre, and Henry Melton 
thought that the little hand that lay upon his arm was 
tremulous. This was only for a moment, and her voice 
sounded as unconcerned as usual when she said : 

“ I have seen Miss Evarts, though I have not the 
honor of an intimate acquaintance. I have regarded 
her as quite pretty, and have no doubt she is well 
worthy of your high esteem. But now let us proceed 
to our hotel. You know we are to attend the grand 
ball to-night, and I must rest myself to be in readiness.” 

For several minutes they moved on without speaking, 
and were almost at the entrance of the ladies’ parlor, 
when Henry Melton, turning his eyes upon his 
companion with something of a searching look, said : 

“I believe I have given you satisfactory evidence 
of the genuineness of my friendship for you. May I 
feel that you honor me with a reciprocal feeling ? ” 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


181 


“ The evidence, Mr. Melton, was not required, as I 
told you ; but it is the more conclusive that it was vol- 
untary. Mr. Melton may be assured of my kindest 
feelings and best wishes.” 

“Will you honor me with your hand in the first 
dance to-night ? ” 

“Yes.” 


182 


MYETLE LAWN. 


CHAPTER XX. 

PAEENTAL PLOTS. 

R eared amidst wealth and luxury; accustomed to 
homage, adulation and flattery ; taught in a 
school where successful coquetry was considered one 
of the polite arts, and where personal attractions and 
worldly accomplishments were paramount to purity of 
heart and goodness of soul, it is a matter of no wonder 
that Ellen Glennmore had lost much of the warm and 
tender sensibility with which nature had endowed her. 
The lessons that she was learning as she grew from 
childhood, became, in later years, fixed principles, 
so that when she reached the age of womanhood, she 
was a finished coquette, regarding love as the mere 
medium of amusement or position, trifling with the finest 
emotions of the soul, and looking on hearts as the 
unfeeling playthings of an idle hour. 

Ellen Glennmore was brilliant, and she knew it. 
She was beautiful, but that had been whispered into 
her ear until it had become irksome, and had ceased to 
excite pleasure even through her vanity. In conjunc- 
tion with beauty, brilliancy and all the advantages that 
wealth could purchase, she was the daughter of a 
distinguished United States Senator. With all these 
superior circumstances operating in her interest, it is a 
fact not at all surprising that she was almost univer- 
sally admired. She was so much, but so vainly sought 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


183 


after, that some of her suitors, after fruitless efforts to 
awake in her bosom any tender emotion, declared and 
believed her to be utterly heartless. Yet she was not 
heartless. What woman ever was f 

It is true that hers was somewhat hardened by an 
unwise system of education; still a heart was there 
nevertheless ; and away down in a little recess was the 
fount of affection, the woman’s tenderness, the capacity 
for loving. This capacity was drawn within somewhat 
narrow limits; was constricted by a system which 
taught her to repress the tender emotions as weaknesses 
unworthy a strong mind ; yet it only wanted culture 
for expansion ; and, though the way of the heart was 
barred with pride, as its guardian, and though training 
had encrusted it with an icy coating, yet a word or a 
whisper from Henry Melton would have melted it into 
love, and enkindled into a flame the little spark which 
seemed about to be smothered and extinguished by the 
chilling influence by which it had ever been surrounded. 
She did not really love him, yet felt herself drawn 
toward him by an irresistible sympathy, which she 
could not, or did not try to analyze. From the time 
they flrst met, his superiority was acknowledged, and 
this grew upon her as they became subsequently better 
acquainted. She was impressed with his manly bear- 
ing, so full of dignity and independence, yet withal so 
courteous and urbane. 

Accustomed to the admiration, if not the worship of 
all with whom she. came in contact, she expected it, as 
a matter of course, from Henry Melton. To win his 


184 


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heart would be an easy task, she thought; while it 
could do no possible harm to any one, and would 
furnish her amusement for an idle hour. As time 
passed on, and he made no particular effort to seek her 
society, or take advantage of any opportunity to make 
any advances or serious declarations, the matter began 
to assume a more important aspect, and that which in 
the beginning was undertaken at the mere suggestion 
of pride or vanity, had now become an earnest effort. 

About this time, the two fathers, seeing the mutual 
advantages that would accrue from a union between 
their children, came to some agreeable understanding 
on the subject. Though the matter was liandled with 
much delicacy, they tacitly understood that each 
was to use' every practicable means in his power to 
bring about the proposed alliance. The truth of 
it was, that Mr. Glennmore was almost, if not quite 
as anxious for the marriage as his friend was. The 
former had, all his life, been a very gay man of the 
world; and, though he wielded a powerful influence 
which no short-comings in his moral character could 
scarcely diminish, much less destroy, he was fond to 
excess of costly and worldly display, delighted in all 
the fashionable immoralities of the day, and, it was 
said, sometimes lost large sums of money at the gaming 
table. This drain, together with his lavish and wasteful 
mode of living, kept his finances in a crippled and 
disordered condition. While he knew that he would 
never suffer from absolute poverty, he was not blind to 
the fact that, unless something was done he not only 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


185 


mighty but probable would be deprived of the means 
and ability to continue in his favorite course of life, 
which had not only deeply impressed the many, but 
had excited the surprise, if not the admiration, of his 
worldly-minded cotemporaries. 

The marriage of his daughter with the only son of 
the lordly old merchant, his friend, would be the very 
thing, since it would furnish a safeguard against any 
prospective evil or threatened deficiency in his financial 
outlook. There were no good reasons, either, why the 
affair should not take place. It could hardly hurt him 
in a social point of view. Although Edwin Melton 
had no political prominence or fame, he was widely 
known among the business circles of the country ; and 
had power — for Wealth is Power every where. Besides, 
his son was no ordinary young man. He was not only 
handsome and agreeable, but evidently talented; he 
had distinguished himself at college, and, young as he 
was, had already attracted some attention in literary 
circles. Mr. Glennmore, grew anxious about the 
match, was not careful to conceal from his daughter 
the high opinion he entertained for the young man 
in question, and even slily suggested that it might be 
worth her time to win him, giving her to understand 
that he knew no one whom he regarded more worthy 
of her love, or to whom he would prefer to give her 
hand in marriage. This voluntarily avowed approba- 
tion of her secret designs, on the part of her father, 
whose sentiments and opinions she regarded above all 
others, together with the already increasing favor with 


1S6 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


which she looked upon young Melton, determined her 
to put forth all her powers to win him, and caused her 
to feel an interest in him which she had never felt for 
any other. 

Time wore on, and it seems she did not make very 
rapid progress ; for, although he had on one occasion, 
obeying the dictates of a most natural impulse, allowed 
expressions of admiration of her beauty to escape him, 
he never gave her to understand that it had ever 
awakened any tenderer emotion; nor did he ever profess 
for her any warmer feeling than an ordinary friendship. 
At this want of susceptibility to charms before which so 
many others had bowed. Miss Glennmore was piqued; 
but this only served to fan the spark into a little flame, 
and made her mind more bent than ever on her 
purpose. The sum of it was, Ellen Glennmore was 
beginning to love Henry Melton, though she herself 
scarcely knew it, until one day, a short time previous 
to her visit to Virginia, her eyes were opened to the 
fact by the pang which she felt on hearing of the 
engagement said to exist between him and Jeannette 
Evarts. She was not quite prepared or disposed to 
believe it; and, while it might be so, the suspense was a 
source of uneasiness to her, and she determined to 
redouble her efforts to win him before it should be too 
late. 

This state of mind was the principal factor in deci- 
ding that Virginia tour, as she hoped and believed that 
having him almost constantly with her for a week or 
two, she would be able to throw around him influences 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


187 


which would force him into a declaration of love ; or if 
she should fail in this, she would at least be able to 
satisfy her mind as to the truth or falsity of the 
rumored engagement. 

The morning on which we introduced her, the party 
had ended their excursion through Virginia, and had 
that day returned to Washington. The walk they 
were enjoying on the occasion of the conversation 
which we have related, was got up by the lady with a 
feeling somewhat akin to last hope ; for, although they 
had been almost constantly together for nearly two 
weeks, she had not been able to elicit from him any 
token or evidence of a passion more than that of esteem 
and friendship. Their conversation may give the reader 
enough insight into Miss Glennmore’s character, for 
him to understand the situation, and to appreciate her 
feelings on hearing from young Melton’s own lips the 
truth of that which she had hitherto only vaguely 
feared. She felt a sharp pang at her heart and a 
momentary bitterness; but pride came to the rescue, 
and sustained her defiantly under her disappointment, 
the anguish of which would otherwise have been almost 
unendurable. 

It was well for her, just then, that she had been 
taught as she had been ; and that her heart had been 
rendered comparatively callous by a system of educa- 
tion that is wicked and perverting. It is an evil wind 
that blows no good. Had Miss Glennmore’s naturally 
fine and tender feelings been cultivated, instead of 
blunted, the disappointment under which she suffered 


188 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


might have been blighting. As it was, her pride 
probably suffered more than her affections ; and even 
this, so abundantly fed by others, soon recovered from 
the blow — so soon in fact, that even that very night, 
at the grand ball, of which she spoke, attired in rich 
beauty and fashionable elegance, she was by far the 
most dazzling of many brilliant stars ; the chief centre 
of attraction ; the most admired ; apparently the happi- 
est, and decidedly the fairest, of all that galaxy of 
sparkling, laughing beauty and bewildering splendor. 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


189 


CHAPTER XXL 


SHATTERED HOPES 



\HE twilight shades were gathering over the valleys, 


I and the church spires of our pretty village were 
gleaming dimly in the fast fading light of the western 
skies, as Henry Melton passed up the broad avenue to 
Melton Mansion, on the evening of the day after the 
conversation related in our last chapter but one. 

Instead of meeting his father, as he expected, he 
found a letter, informing him that important business 
in Philadelphia and New York, might probably delay his 
return for a week. It further stated : 

“ I had the good fortune to hear of you, from 
Richmond, and was particularly pleased to learn how 
marked your attentions had been to the beautiful and 
brilliant Miss Glennmore, and heartily congratulate 
you that your attentions were received with such 
evident pleasure. My heart is elated, my son, at the 
thought that my dearest hopes will now surely be 
realized ; and I rejoice at the bright prospect of prefer- 
ment — fortune and happiness — that seems to be so 
invitingly within your reach. 

“ I trust you will not allow yourself to be rendered 
unhappy through sympathy with Miss Evarts, in the 
disappointment she will very naturally feel at this 
reverse in her fortune. It is quite reasonable, under 
the circumstances, that you should sympathize with 


190 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


her; but it would be folly in you to permit your sympa- 
thies to influence your mind to the extent of producing 
any real unhappiness. I doubt that she will much 
need your sympathies; for, with her careless and 
joyous disposition, and buoyant, happy spirit, I really 
think it more than probable she will forget the whole 
affair in a week or two. In any event, no blame what- 
ever can possibly be attached to your conduct; since 
your engagement with her was made without being 
cognizant of the fact that another had a prior claim 
upon you. This certainly must exonerate you from 
any charge of fault or faithlessness in the non-fulfill- 
ment of a hasty compact, contracted, as this was, under 
the stimulus of passion, and in the thoughtless impulse 
of youth.” 

Henry had passed the point where this letter could 
give much concern ; but he held another letter, and as 
he broke the seal his face became pale and anxious, 
and his heart beat quickly and irregularly. 

“Myrtle Lawn, May — , 1875. 

“ Mr. Henry Melton : 

“ If seeing the fondest hopes of my life blasted, the 
purest and holiest feelings of my soul crushed and 
blighted, were insufficient to complete the anguish of 
my heart, no other agency would be required, than the 
certain knowledge that this letter will give you pain. 
When you read it, try not to think unkindly of me, for 
my misery is complete without your condemnation. 

We must part ! Oh, Henry! it is so sudden: this 
quick transition from joy to woe. Just a week or two 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


191 


ago, the skies were all bright to me. There was not a 
shadow to be seen on the beautiful surface of our 
future lives. The roses of hope and happiness bloomed 
fresh and fragrant in our bosoms, and no thistle or 
thorn grew there to crush them out or poison their 
beauty. 

“Repinings are useless. It is vain and idle for 
us to linger with the memories, or to try to gather 
up the fragments of broken hopes. We must part, 
Henry ! oh, Henry ! it gives me pain ; my poor heart 
bleeds to write, as much as yours will to read — we 
must part. Until our last interview, no thought of evil 
had entered my mind. Your words, though strange, 
did not seem prophetic until we had parted, when I 
took them to my heart and pondered on their mean- 
ing. It was then that the dark angel for the first 
time flapped his wings about me, and I felt the shadow 
of coming sorrow. I need not tell you how my worst 
fears and misgivings were confirmed into certain grief 
by your letter which was written on the evening after 
our conversation, and just preceding your departure 
for Virginia. I pondered well over that letter, and my 
mind suggested thoughts and arguments on the situa- 
tion contrary to the view which you took of it. It is 
needless for me to enter into a useless discussion, but I 
will say that my situation was a miserable one. I was 
constrained to sacrifice my happiness and yours, or I 
must secure ours by sacrificing the hopes and happiness 
of one to whom you owe your earthly all. This is not 
all; but as I said, I will not enter into a needless 
discussion. I have tearfully and prayerfully considered 


192 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


the subject in all its various lights and bearings, and I 
have come to a conclusion. That conclusion is unalter- 
able and immovable; and the fixed and unchanging 
purpose of my heart is — to hreah the tie that has hound 
us together, 

“ Oh, Henry, by the happiness of the past, by the 
tender love we have cherished for each other, by these 
burning tears that will gush into my eyes in spite of all 
that I can do, I implore you not to condemn me. Do 
not say that I am fickle or inconstant. Do not 
remind me of the moss rock, where I told you I would 
be your wife, even were you cut off from all prospect, 
and thrown penniless on the world. I would have 
done so. Heaven knows I could not be actuated or 
influenced in a matter of this kind by any mercenary 
motives. Were I to-day the possessor of countless 
thousands,'and had your father in the vicissitudes of 
fortune been reduced to bankruptcy, I should not hesi- 
tate one moment about marrying you. I would be 
your bride far sooner than were things reversed, and I 
the pauper and you the millionaire. If my cup of 
happiness needed one drop to make it beatitude, that 
addition would be furnished when I could lay my head 
next your heart, and place my fortunes in your hands. 
But Henry, I should have no fortune to indemnify you 
in case you lost your own by a marriage with me. 
Instead, I could bring you nothing but double poverty. 

“ You may ask what I mean. I will enlighten you. 
My father told me, only a few days ago, that he was 
comparatively a bankrupt: that his pecuniary affairs 
are so much embarrassed, he fears he shall have to 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


193 


suspend his business in the city in order to remove a 
mortgage that hangs over Myrtle Lawn — this, our dear 
old homestead, around which cluster so many hallowed 
associations of the past. 

“ You tell me in your letter that ‘ you are ready and 
willing to forego all for my sake; that you defy 
poverty and dare your father’s threatened disinheri- 
tance.’ The declaration is characteristic of your 
superior magnanimity. But, Henry, you are impulsive, 
and you allow your great love for me to blind your 
judgment. You under-estimate all the incalculable 
advantages which you propose to sacrifice. You are 
ambitious. Put your wealth to interest. It will prove 
a lever-power to your efforts ; and, while I know you 
will disdain to buy preferment, and would scorn the 
favor that gold would purchase, yet an honorable 
eminence is none the less honorable that the road to it 
happened to lie over a golden way. If you reject iny 
advice, still clinging to the hope of dissuading me from 
my purpose, I tell you now, Heijry, that your efforts 
will be vain and fruitless. I am fixed and unchangeable. 

“ I do not deny that I still love — will always love 
you, dear Henry. My candor may be impolitic. I 
have never learned to dissemble. 

“ Go, Henry. Follow the dictates of your mind’s 
laudable ambition. Sustained and guarded by a heart 
like yours, this ambition can never degenerate into an 
ungodly passion. And when, in some not far distant 
day, I shall witness your promotion ; when in a coming 
year I shall see you standing on an eminence, dealing 
out wisdom, and benefiting your fellow-men; when 
12 


194 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


your father sees his highest hopes and aims in life all 
fulfilled, and his cup of joy full to the brim — do you 
cast one thought back to Jeannette, and know that she, 
too, is pleasured in your happiness, and glories in your 
success. 

“Now, Henry, leave me. Our paths henceforth 
diverge; but may we not still be friends? Let us 
cherish for each other the same hallowed feeling that 
moved our hearts one towards the other, in those happy 
days when we were children, careless and thoughtless. 

“ And, oh ! Henry, let us not despair ! If our heart- 
hopes are broken, let us look through the dark shadows 
of this life to the Soul Lights that emanates from Him, 
who chasteneth those whom He loveth. 

“ Henry, farewell. 

“ Jeannette Evarts.” 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


195 


CHAPTER XXII. 

A PASSIONATE PARTING. 

N hour later, Henry Melton might be found in the 



XA. parlor at Myrtle Lawn, standing in front of the 
fire-place. A few feat from him, sat Jeannette Evarts, 
pale, silent, haggard. 

“And this^ then, Jeannette, is the realization of my 
dreams? This, the end of all my hopes ?” 

“ The fortune is none of our making or choosing, 
Henry. It is the decree of destiny.” 

“ You are immovable, Jeannette ? You will never 
marry me ? ” 

“ Yes, Henry, immovable. I can never marry you, 
except on the condition that you gain your father’s 
approval; and this you say you can never hope to do.” 

“ Too true, Jeannette. I have nothing to hope from 
him ; he will never relent.” 

“ Then my purpose is fixed. I am inflexible.” 

“ Can nothing — nothing move you? ” 

“ Nothing, even though my heart may break.” 

There was a painful moment’s pause, and then Henry 
again addressed her. 

“ Do you believe in an orthodox creed — are you a 
Christian, Jeannette ? ” 

“ I will pardon you, Henry, even though unasked ; 
and will answer your question, as much as your doubts 
pain me. I trust that I am a Christian, and it is my 


196 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


faith that sustains me in all hours of misfortune — in 
all times of darkness.” 

“Forgive me, but may Heaven deliver me from 
such a doctrine, if your conduct be the result of its 
teachings.” 

Jeannette shuddered; then rising to her feet and 
advancing to where he stood, she laid her hand upon 
his shoulder, and looking up into his wild eyes and 
haggard face, exclaimed : 

“ Henry, Henry, are you mad?” 

“ If I am mad, Jeannette, you have made me so. I 
am mad, if it be madness to pray for deliverance from 
a system and a religion which allows one of its disciples 
to make a sacrifice of the holiest feelings of the heart 
for the sake of a false pride, which is not only antago- 
nistic to my feeling and principle of justice, but which 
is perversive of every humane and tender sentiment of 
man’s heart.” 

“ Oh, Henry, you mistake me. It is not pride by 
which I am chiefly influenced. I am actuated by a 
sense of propriety. You acknowledge that your father 
has based all his hopes upon the fulfillment of this 
engagement which he has formed for you. Have I a 
moral right to come between him and his dearest 
wishes, and, by complying with your solicitations, 
thwart his hopes, and wreck his happiness? Besides 
this, there is another whose happiness would be imper- 
iled — perhaps blighted for all time: one who has a 
claim on your heart prior to my own, and who doubt- 
less loves you with all her soul’s capacity ; one who has 
probably been taught from her girlhood to love you as 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


197 


her own, and to look upon you as her future husband; 
until now her every bright dream and every fond hope 
is inseparably associated with your name. Would you 
have me marry you and thereby poison the sweet cup 
she quaffs — give her the broken hopes of a life-time to 
mourn — while I would not only destroy your worldly 
prospect, and bring double poverty to your door, but 
might be a serious hindrance to your advancement and 
an incumbrance as you worked your way up the steps 
of fame ? Am I not right ? Do not try to influence 
me. My heart is yours, but my hand can never be. 
My mind is fixed, and arguments are useless in a cause 
that is hopeless. Your efforts to dissuade will all be 
idle and fruitless, while they can only serve to aggra- 
vate our mutual anguish.” 

“ Cease, for heaven’s sake, cease ! You madden me ! 
Would you have me perjure myself by marrying Ellen 
Glennmore, when every pulsation of my throbbing 
bosom is replete with love for you ? ” 

“ Yet, Henry, may you not be able to forget the past, 
and learn to love her ? ” 

“What has come over you, Jeannette? What 
cursed influence has wrought this cruel transformation? 
Have you so soon forgotten the happy past, with all its 
train of sacred memories ? ” 

I have not. Those sacred memories will never pass 
from my heart ; but I would not dwell on them just 
now, lest my strength be put to too severe a trial in 
enduring the hopelessness of the present.” 

“ Hopelessness of the present ! Ha ! ha ! And pray 
tell us, Jeannette, tell us about the future.” 


198 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


“A far brighter and happier destiny for you^ than 
any you now imagine. All things work together for 
good to them that love God. The circumstances that 
visited this blighting disappointment upon us were 
none of our making. We could in no wise have con- 
troled them. They were purely providential, and will 
doubtless eventually result in our mutual good ; though 
it is hard for us to believe this now. Be strong, 
be firm. 

“ ‘ Mute 

The camel labors with the heaviest load. 

And the wolf dies in silence : not bestowed 
In vain should such example be: if they, 

Things of ignoble or of savage mood 
* Endure and shrink not, we, of noble clay 

May temper it to bear — it is but for a day.’ 

“Go, Henry; leave me. Engage your mind with 
new plans, new pursuits. You will, in time, forget 
Jeannette; and when you are married to Ellen Glen — ” 
‘ “Would you drive me to madness? I tell you I 
cannot love any other than yourself. Ellen Glennmore 
does not look upon me as her future husband. If she 
ever entertained such an idea, it has been dispelled. I 
have seen her. Two days ago I told her all. Sha 
hnows that Jeannette Evarts is the betrothed of Henry 
Melton.” 

“ I grieve that you have done this, since it cannot 
in the least alter my resolution.,” 

“Jeannette, are you prepared for the separation? 
Are you ready that we should part ? ” 

“ Ready — if you will only say that we may still be 
friends. Oh, remember the happy, the holy days that 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


199 


are past, and give me your hand, in token of a brother’s 
love.” 

“ Farewell, Jeannette ! You ask for a brother’s love. 
I know it not. My soul acknowledges but one passion. 
There is none other there but the same deep, unbend- 
ing devotion that first won, and afterwards bound your 
young heart to mine. That, no time or fortune can 
ever shake ; and may you not learn, alas ! too late, that 
it were not well to cast it from you thus.” 

Henry Melton started toward the door; but just as 
he was crossing the threshold, he involuntarily turned. 
Their eyes met. He rushed forward, seized her cold 
and trembling hands within his own, hardly less cold, 
and, throwing himself on his knees at her feet, in a 
tone replete with sadness yet full of touching earnest- 
ness, poured forth this somewhat incoherent, but none 
the less pathetic expostulation and appeal: 

“Jeannette, oh ! Jeannette, I cannot leave you thus I 
In the name of God and justice, I pray you to pause, 
ere you blast, my life with all its sweet and tender 
promises; ere you wreck all my hopes, and thwart 
every good end and aim of my life. Remember how I 
have loved you ; how in the joyous days of our careless 
childhood, your gentle voice made sweeter music to my 
heart than the soft notes of the wild birds that you 
loved; when the glad, warm light of your mild, blue 
eye was the sunshine of my soul, and the dawning 
raj^s of a happier existence. I appeal to you, in the 
name of every feeling that is dear and sacred to 
man’s bosom. I appeal to you in the name of the 
sweet memories that now crowd themselves in quick 


200 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


succession on my burning brain, in this hour of my 
heart’s darkness and evil. I appeal to you by the 
utter wretchedness of the present, and by the blank 
hopelessness of the future, to pause, reconsider and 
revoke your cruel decision, ere it be irrevocably too 
late. You weep, Jeannette. Bright, beautiful star of 
my destiny, say, oh, say, that I may not leave you ! ” 

For a minute or more, the poor girl was completely 
overcome. At last, by a manifestly powerful effort she 
recovered herself, and, though her face was as pale as 
the whitest marble, her voice was clear and firm, as she 
said : 

“ My heart bleeds with your own, Henry ; but the 
die has been cast, and our hopes are broken. It is the 
voice of destiny. Farewell ! ” 

She bowed her face in her hands and shuddered. 
When she looked up, a moment afterwards, she — was 
alone. Henry had rushed from the room, and no voice 
but the voice of a broken, heart echoed back the 
mournful farewell. 

Jeannette gazed for a long minute on the open door 
through which he had fled, then closing her eyes she 
sank back on the sofa, while in a low, plaintive tone, 
she cried : 

“ Gone, gone^ gone. Oh ! God. God of my sainted 
inother, forsake me not I ” 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


201 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

HEROISM IN SPAIN. 

N the following evening a young man with a hand- 



vy some, but haggard face, and with his arms folded 
across his bosom, paced the deck of an ocean steamer. 
Ever and anon he leaned forward and strained his 
eyes toward the fast fading shore, while a tear for a 
moment trembled on the lid and then quickly fell in 
the waters below. Shore and city were fast disappear- 
ing. Further — further the shore — a mere speck, it is 
gone. Further, dimmer the glittering spire — like a 
glistening star twinkling, dimmer, dimmer — it is lost, 
and as far as the eye can reach is the boundless waste 
of waters. 

* ^ ^ ^ * 

Now the scene changes. For a short season we will 
bid adieu to Henry Melton, and leave him on the ocean 
with his broken hopes. For a while let us leave behind 
us Myrtle Lawn, with weeping innocence, with her 
hopes and her fears. 

Let us turn our eyes away from Elmwood, with her 
flower-embosomed cottage, her graceful elms, her neat 
walks, and the little white gate near the flower arbor. 
Let us forget for awhile the inmates there, hopeful if 
not cheerful; blessed in a holy love that knows no 
selfishness — leave them smiling around the domestic 
heartstone, unawed by the shadow that darkened their 


202 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


home — leave them with the finger of hope pointing to 
fair images in the future. Leave them with the spirit 
of resignation hovering about them, a spirit that sees 
no evil in misfortune, but all things for good. Leave 
them with the angel voices to whisper in dreams ; with 
angel eyes to watch their slumbers. 

Let us take our footsteps forth from Melton Mansion, 
where its lordly owner is sustaining with mute agony 
and despair, the terrible conflict that pride and a 
father’s love is waging in his worldly heart; contem- 
plating with a speechless misery his shattered hopes, and 
brooding in anguish o’er his crushing disappointment. 

Let us bid them all farewell for a time ; and let 
fancy wing her flight far away, from the scenes that we 
have known and loved — over blooming vales and 
grand mountains — far away over broad rivers and 
seemingly endless seas, and take us once again to that 
land of the lovely skies and the orange blossoms; 
where the presses run with wine and oil ; where the 
blooming of the flqwers is almost perpetual, and the 
song of the spring time never ceases. Let us not linger 
too long in the southern paradise of this enchanting 
clime, but go up towards the north, where all nature, 
though not so bewitchingly beautiful, is more sublimely 
grand. 

We leave the oldest city in Europe — fair Cadiz, on 
the sea, that had its name eleven hundred years before 
the birth of Christ, and go to where the awe-inspiring 
Pyrenees present some of the grandest scenery we 
know on earth; where, nearly twelve thousand feet 
high, Montserrat rears its monstrous head among the 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


203 


clouds, and looks out over the vine-clad valleys towards 
Barcelona on the water ; yet benignly, as it were, 
down on historic Benedictine and her old convents and 
monasteries. The imposing and magnificent Canta- 
brian, stretching her arms through Asturias out to the 
Atlantic, looks to the south o’er valleys where the almond 
tree flourishes, where the dainty figs and the luscious 
oranges ripen, and where the “showering grapes in 
bacchanal profusion reel to earth purple and gushing.” 

Over that Elysian land, where peace ought to reign 
with beauty, the roaring guns of combating forces tell 
the sorrowful tale that the purple flow of the wine- 
press is but an emblem, and the freshness of the olive 
branch is a cruel mockery. Will men never look back; 
never look around ; never look up to learn lessons of 
charity, wisdom and love? Will scenes of carnage 
among men never cease? 

* ^ ^ ^ 

Horace Evarts’ sojourn in Spain was at the time when 
society was convulsed, and the kingdom in an agony 
over the Carlist war. In his wretched frame of mind 
it is a matter of little wonder that he sought diversion 
and forgetfulness amid the dangers and excitements of 
a soldier’s life. Naturally brave, quick and impulsive, 
he would have acted well under any circumstances. 
As it was, the constantly recurring memory of the 
causes that made him an exile gave a tinge of despe- 
ration to his conduct ; and his deportment in the several 
engagements in which he had been, had won him a high 
promotion from the ranks, and made him an object of 
admiration, if not of envy, among his fellow soldiers 


204 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


and superior officers. He was rising to prominence; 
his star was in the ascendant. 

The scene is the field of bloody strife. Five thou- 
sand Spanish arms glittering in the same sunlight that 
bathed the craggy mountain sides and the city at its 
base in a flood of radiance. The determined faces of 
this host were turned towards the frowning batteries 
that protected the city by the mountain — the strong- 
hold of the Carlist forces. Those five thousand Span- 
iards, now drawn out in battle array, had come to 
rescue it from the usurper’s grasp, or to make their 
graves about its walls. All was ready. The sharp 
crack of the skirmisher’s rifle was only heard at inter- 
vals, and the distant report showed that the enemy’s 
pickets had been forced back on their entrenchments. 

A minute more and the forward movement began. 
It was a solemn moment, and Nature herself seemed in 
sympathy with the occasion. The air was still and 
heavy, and not even the note of a bird was heard, nothing 
save the clanking sword, and the firm, steady tread of 
an undaunted soldiery. Onward, onward. Nearer — 
nearer, they approached the fortifications where the 
heavy ordnance and hosts of insurrectionary forces 
awaited them. As yet not a shot had been fired ; but 
in a moment more the ground beneath them trembled 
as with an earthquake. Simultaneously, the roar of a 
thousand rifles, and the thunders of the guns from the 
fortress, were echoed from the rugged mountain sides 
until the awful rumble, sweeping o’er the flowered val- 
leys, had reached the distant sea. Shell, shot and ball 
tore through the ranks of the advancing warriors, and 


MYETLE LAWN. 


205 


made great gaps in their lines. Firm and unshaken 
they closed in and moved on. Now again like a terri- 
ble whirlwind of fire came that blinding flash and that 
deafening roar; and, as before, the awful missiles of 
destruction went crashing through the lines of that 
Spartan band. Again — again, and yet they faltered 
not. Onward. They would soon be upon the works. 

The cry of victory was beginning to fill the air; 
when, merciful Heaven ! the lines were swept from left 
to right by the fire of an enfilading battery, which, up 
to this moment, had remained silent from the necessity 
of its position. The slaughter was sickening to con- 
template. For a minute the advancing troops paused 
irresolute. The action was fatal. Once more the guns 
from front and flank hurled their deadly missiles among 
the wavering lines. It was more than human strength 
and courage could endure. The patriot forces, cut 
to pieces, turned in retreat; yet, though repulsed 
with five hundred of their gallant comrades dead or 
wounded on the field, they were not vanquished. In 
an hour the lines were re-established, and there was a 
death-defiant expression on those battle-begrimed faces 
which plainly told the leaders “We are ready.” 

Before making a second advance, however, that 
enfilading battery must be silenced. To attack it in 
front would be sheer madness, for the charging line 
would be swept from end to' end by the guns from the 
fortifications. The only possible approach to it was 
by a side movement, through a narrow defile three hun- 
dred yards long. Three hundred determined men might 
possibly take it, from this direction, though two thirds 


206 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


of their number would almost certainly be sacrificed in 
the desperate effort. 

What brave spirit would dare to lead these three 
hundred men? What three hundred men would so 
defy death as to offer to follow? The situation was 
laid before the command, and the question arose, “ who 
would lead?” Without a moment’s hesitation a young 
officer stepped forward, and gracefully saluting the 
commanding General begged that his services might be 
accepted. The General asked his name. It was given. 
“ Call for your volunteers. Captain.” The call was 
made, and three hundred men who were determined to 
win or die stepped into line. The young officer, seized 
a battle-flag from the ranks, and waving it above him, 
cried aloud : 

“ Swear with me, comrades, that this emblem shall 
float over the enemy’s guns, or not one of us will 
survive the effort to place it there.” 

The deep response and the resolute look on those 
pale faces told that their answer came from the heart. 

The period of suspense was short. Five minutes 
later the sharp report of a single rifle was heard in the 
distance. It was the preconcerted signal for the gen- 
eral advance. The volunteers were charging the 
battery. The main army was moving upon the fortifi- 
cations. The conflict was terrible. The clash of 
swords, the rattle of musketry, the roar of cannon 
were appalling. Dark clouds of sulphurous smoke hung 
heavy on the air, and almost hid from view the rays of 
the noonday sun. Onward ! The brave army of liber- 
ators were on a line with the enfilading battery. 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


207 


Why did it keep silent? Turing their eyes in the 
direction they beheld, in the act of mounting upon its 
guns, the young officer — the volunteer Captain, bare- 
headed, his long locks floating disheveled, and waving 
in his strong right hand the tattered emblem which he 
had sworn to plant upon these guns. He had fulfilled 
his oath. The enthusiasm was unbounded. The sight 
to the advancing army was inspiring, and gave fresh 
vigor to the arm and new impetus to the charge. The 
cry of “ victory,” from a thousand tongues rang out 
on the air, but the young captain heard it not; for 
just then, pierced through the body by a ball from one 
of the retreating foe, Horace Evarts fell back pros- 
trate, weltering in his blood, but still grasping in his 
hand his battle -stained banner. The fortifications 
were overreached. The city by the mountain was 
redeemed, but the blood of a thousand Spaniards paid 
the awful ransom. 


208 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

OLD SCENES REVISITED. 

F or some days we have been absent from the scenes 
where have occurred the principal events of our 
little history; absent from the homes of those whose 
adventures we have undertaken to write. We have 
looked upon those scenes when they were gladdened 
and beautified with the light of love and happiness. 
We have anxiously watched the light as it grew grad- 
ually dimmer and dimmer, until its rays were almost 
totally obscured by deepening shadows. We have felt 
our sympathies wax warm and tender as the clouds 
gathered dark and thick around the hearts our hearts 
do prize. 

Let us return. Though no roseate pictures await us 
there, we may yet hope that a brighter day is coming, 
when the ordeal through which our friends have been 
passing, will only serve as a chastening memory to 
soften and hallow the joys and the happiness of hopes 
realized. ^ 

We will look in at Melton Mansion. 

Writhing under the sting of a blasting disappoint- 
ment, bowed down with increasing age and broken 
hopes, and crushed to earth with the ever-recurring 
recollection of his thwarted aims, Edwin Melton was 
bitterly deploring the fatal principle that had wrecked 
his happiness. 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


209 


If the reader has, in the course of this little sketch, 
entertained any feelings of unkindness, or even unchari- 
tableness towards the once proud owner of Melton 
Mansion, he would have forgotten it all, and had a 
feeling of pity and sympathy aroused in his bosom, 
could he have seen him then, pale, sorrowful, haggard; 
left alone and unsupported; the staff he had ever 
leaned upon broken in fragments. Yes, could you have 
seen him, on that early summer’s evening, seated in his 
library at an open window, looking out on the broad 
landscape where Nature bloomed in beauty, we say, 
could you have seen him then looking out over the 
picture, and contrasting in his mind the outward world 
and the inward man you would have forgiven his 
errors and forgotten his mistakes. 

Edwin Melton had changed indeed. A few short 
weeks had wrought a marked transformation. The 
erect proud form was beginning to bend beneath the 
burden of his broken hopes. The manly frame-work 
was beginning to give way before the undermining influ- 
ence of a wringing anguish. The dark lustre of the 
proud eyes was beginning to fade before the vision of a 
life-labor thrown away. The ruddy cheek, where 
health had bloomed, was beginning to look pale and 
sunken, for the touch of sorrow had left its impress 
there. The lips, whose utterance was command, now 
trembled and quivered with the pent-up emotions of a 
troubled soul, and the strong arm was being palsied in 
sympathy with a mind that might lose its equilibrium 
from the intolerable shock that had forever shattered 
his dearest hopes. 

13 


210 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


The old demon pride that had ever been his guide 
and counsellor still clung to him, and whispered, “ The 
world must know nothing of this,” and Edwin Melton 
clung to the fragments of his broken staff. Did it 
avail? He looked forth from his lordly mansion to the 
great broad lands, which almost as far as his glance 
might reach, he could claim as his own. He thought 
of his rich coffers, whose treasures were counted by 
tens of thousands, and for a moment the proud eye 
shone with its wonted brightness, and the old rich glow 
flushed up the cheek ; but oh, how flitting ! A soft, 
gentle zephyr sweeping o’er the meadow, and bearing 
on its wings the perfume of sweet-scented flowers came 
stealing mildly through the open window and lifted 
from his wrinkled brow a gray-grown lock. It cooled 
the glowing cheek, and the flush died out ; for, again . 
he was back in his crumbled castles. Oh, pity ! pity, 
that such a sweet messenger should bear a whisper so 
full of sorrow. Thou art alone. Alone ? Y es, alone ! 
Alone on the wild sea of life tempest-driven. Like 
some great ship forsaken by its helmsman, and left 
to toss and drift with the breakers and go down 
with the storms, was he. Alone ? Yes, abandoned in the 
full tide of his cherished prosperity ; alone to the bat- 
tle with a sorrow that was about to engulf him. 
Alone? Yes, alone! and staggering on down the hill- 
side of life with no faith to support, no hope to buoy, 
tottering blindly on to the eternal shore. What was 
the vast wealth for which he had toiled and striven ? 
Around about him every where ; but where, where the 
talismanic power which was to ward off evil, and which 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


211 


was to aid in the realization of his fondest dreams? 
Where the boasted charm that, like Aladdin’s lamp of 
Arabian legend, he was to use for the accomplishment 
of his ambitious schemes? Schemes, and plans, and 
hopes, that for .twenty long years he had hugged to his 
bosom as his idol, yea as his God ? The golden palace 
had been built ; the lamp was there, but pride with his 
gilded trappings, like the peddler in the fable, had 
stepped in and stolen away the magic power. What 
was his wealth to him now ? What did it profit ? 
Naught, aye worse than naught; for, while it glittered 
and sparkled on every side, its glare only mocked him 
in the wretched loneliness of his heart. 

His life had been spent in projecting schemes of 
ungodly ambition. To see his name ranked with the 
distinguished ; to see it written on the scroll of fame 
had been the ruling desire of his soul, the study of his 
existence. Upon this he had relied for happiness, and 
he had never looked to any higher or holy source. 
About religion he had scarcely ever thought, and 
therefore when the breath of sorrow and disappoint- 
ment had swept over his heart he was comfortless, for 
he had no Faith upon which to lean. And yet he was 
far from being positively wicked. He was only nega- 
tively good. Upon a bank of sand he had built his 
hopes, and we have seen the result. Before the first 
sweeping storm his castles had crumbled, and he was 
left prostrate. Just as he was about to reap reward 
for his toils and his pains in the realization of his 
dearest hopes, the cup was dashed from his lips, 
and its shattered fragments could never, aye never 


212 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


be reunited. With a countenance expressive of 
unutterable anguish and despair, he turned from the 
window where he had sat for an hour and, taking with 
his trembling fingers a crumpled letter that lay on 
a table at hand, he read for the twentieth time the 
following : 

Bostoit, Mass., June — 1875. 

“My Dear Father. — I am impelled by a sense of 
duty to write this letter, that I may give you a brief 
explanation of the causes which led to my abrupt 
departure from your house — the home of my child- 
hood. Yet, my father, I am far from being certain that 
this is necessary ; for I hardly suppose that you will be 
at much loss to assign the reason for my conduct. If 
you are unhappy at my absence I grieve. If I have 
wronged you, I ask forgiveness. Could you see into 
my heart and know its wretchedness; could you see 
the future as it looks to me all clouded and darkened, 
without one single ray of glad light beyond the shadow 
to beckon me on ; could you see the withered garlands, 
the blasted hopes and the broken promises of my youth, 
you would not feel indignant but would pity. Yet, 
amid the wrecks of all my own cherished dreams : amid 
the ruins of all my dearest hopes, and with all the 
pangs of my bitter disappointment, I have not forgotten 
you. Though by your own mistakes, and by your own 
hand, my life has been blighted, the poignancy of ni}^ 
grief is sharpened by the reflection that you are left 
alone, and probably need aid and sympathy. If this be 
the case I extend you that sympathy ; and though, as I 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


213 


;? 

just stated, my life has been poisoned through your 
instrumentality, I love you none the less therefor; 
because I know that you were blindfolded, as it were, 
and did not dream of the sad wreck your policy was 
working. That policy, (while I know it was honest 
and had for its intended object my welfare and advance- 
ment) was necessarily ruinous in its consequences, 
since it was founded on an ambition that was unre- 
strained and ungodly, and which would not have 
scrupled to sacrifice every earthly consideration — save 
that of honor itself — for the attainment of its end. 
But for this I would have been happy, aye more than 
happy, and my whole life might have been one almost 
uncheckered scene of light and gladness. For this I 
have been made miserable. Under its chilling blight, 
the sweet flowers of hope that bloomed fresh and radi- 
ant in my bosom have withered and died, and they no 
longer shed their sweet fragrance or their hallowed 
influence o’er my soul. By this, my present has been 
shrouded in gloom, my future rendered a hopeless 
blank, and the dearest and most sacred tie of my heart 
and of my life snapped asunder. 

“Listen, father. You know Jeannette Evarts, you 
remember when she and I were childien, and how we 
were wont to play together so careless and happ3^ 
Yes, you have not forgotten; and you noticed then the 
childish fondness that sprung up in our young hearts 
one for the other, in those beautiful innocent days, all 
gilded with sunlight and happiness. That childish affec- 
tion grew upon us so that almost ere we had passed 
beyond the age of childhood it had strengthened into a 


214 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


bond that could not well have been broken. We did 
not pause to analyze the feeling, for we were too young 
to understand its nature. We only knew that we loved 
each other, and this was enough. 

“ I went to college. Did I forget her ? Instead, my 
love became an absorbing, but a holy passion, and 
Jeannette’s bright image, ever with me, cheered me on 
in my arduous studies, and smiled approving smiles as 
I walked the paths of duty. I knew your ambition 
too, and I labored in order that I might not disappoint 
it. Even this was not so great a stimulus as the 
thought that I was, to some extent, making myself 
worthy of the artless young girl whom I had left 
behind. 

“ Three years went by, and their expiration brought 
me back to the home of my heart’s happiness. Then 
the halcyon days returned, for I was with Jeannette 
again, and she proved the same pure child of nature, 
unchanged in aught save that she had grown fairer and 
lovelier with the dawn of womanhood, and .she loved 
me as before. 

“ The days and the weeks and the months flew by on 
golden wings, and we were just as happy as if sorrow 
on this earth was unknown. Aye, we were happy; 
and I never dreamed that aught would come to break 
the beauty of the spell, or that a shadow would ever 
lower to dim the brightness of our way. Yet that 
shadow came. First a little speck, scarcely visible on 
the horizon of the future. Time developed it. Broad- 
er, deeper, darker it grew, until the whole sky was 
overcast, and the last ray of hope and happiness was 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


215 


swallowed up in its gloom. I will tell you of it, and 
how it came. I had been at home several months, and, 
though I had been with Jeannette almost every day, I 
had never spoken of the passion that swayed my soul. 
It was on a lovely day in autumn that I strolled with 
her in a beautiful woodland where the rose vine was 
shedding its blossoms, and where the golden-tinted 
leaves were rustling with a music among the branches. 
We came upon a romantic spot, and there I sat with 
her, and for the first time I told her the story of my 
heart. I was loved. Can I ever forget my feelings ? 
Never ! I shall always look back to that period as the 
holiest and happiest of my life. I went to you, confi- 
dent of your approval, and telling you all, I asked 
your sanction and blessing upon my engagement. 

“You can have hardly forgotten the interview, so I 
will not repeat. Then it was that the first thorn 
sprang up in my Eden; then the first doubt crept into 
my mind ; and, though for a time it awakened scarce 
an apprehension in my bosom, time proved it the mir- 
ror which reflected the shadow of coming events. It 
is not necessary that I should go into the details of the 
sequel. The subject is harrowing to me, and I desire 
to abridge. I am cognizant of all the plans and 
schemes which you adopted and devised for changing 
the current of my feeling, and for turning it into 
another channel. 

“ Yet I did not fully understand the violence of your 
opposition, and scarcely doubting that in time you 
would relent, and for other reasons which you probably 
would not appreciate, I kept Jeannette in ignorance of 


216 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


that opposition which has proved the bitter curse of 
my life. Finally, sometime after the completion of my 
studies, when I had well-nigh despaired of your appro- 
bation, and had almost begun to realize the sad cer- 
tainty that you would never yield, I determined to tell 
Jeannette all and to throw myself upon her generosity 
and her affection. For this purpose I sought her on 
the day prior to my trip to Virginia, but my firmness 
failed me when I would have done my duty. I came 
home from her that evening with the intention of 
appealing to you once more before I took the step that 
would probably part father and son forever. You had 
left home, and I found the letter that carried me with 
the Glennmores to Virginia. You cannot imagine how 
much I suffered in those days of doubt and suspense. 
That night, before my departure for Glennmore Place, 
I wrote at length to Jeannette what I had not had the 
courage to speak in words. I went on my tour through 
Virginia. You congratulated me. While with Miss 
Glennmore (fearing that she might place a wrong con- 
struction on my attentions to her), I told her of the 
engagement that existed between myself and Jean- 
nette. I returned home and found on my arrival a 
letter from Jeannette. For your perusal, and yours 
alone, I enclose it. If I would mock my feelings I 
would say that I was miserable; and yet I did not 
entirely despair. I would not believe that Jeannette 
could drive me from her under any circumstances. I 
felt in my heart that she could not tear me from hers ; 
and, with the facts before me, and in the face of the 
solemn and emphatic declarations of her letter, I sought 
her w;ith the hope of changing her resolutions. 


MYKTLE LAWN^. 


217 


“ In this I failed ; and, in contemplating the wreck 
of my long-cherished dreams, I almost lamented the 
day of my birth. I returned home, and scarcely 
conscious of what I was doing or whither I was going, 
I wandered into the library. I am ignorant how long 
I had been there, or how I passed the time, but I 
remember at last of finding myself mechanically turn- 
ing the pages of some book. 

“A letter dropped therefrom. My attention was 
directed to its superscription, and what was my aston- 
ishment to find it addressed in your own hand-writing 
to Jeannette Evarts. My amazement was still further 
increased by reading the following endorsement, which 
I found on the back of the letter, and which I knew 
was written by her: ^‘From a sense of duty^ I shall 
comply with the request herein mentioned^ even though 
my heart may break in the fulfillment.'*^ 

“ I have hardly an apology to make for opening and 
reading the letter — your letter, father, to Jeannette. 
The story was all told now, and the last faint glimmer- 
ing ray of hope fled my bosom forever. Oh, the 
wretchedness, the misery, the bitterness of that awful 
moment. In the delirium of my madness I almost 
hated you as the author of my being. It was only for 
a moment, and then your son settled down into a calm, 
hopeless despair, that saw no hope beyond, or this side 
the tomb. Even in that darkest hour of my soul's 
sorrow, my principal consideration was not of self. I 
thought of that tender, innocent, young being, who, 
from childhood’s hours had given me her heart, and 
who had always loved me with so much confidence and 
trust. 


218 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


“ What should I do ? Remain there amid those 
scenes to be ever mocked and cursed by the bright 
images of a past, that was forever buried save from 
memory ? To have my mind and my heart continually 
haunted by the recollection of broken promises — 
promises that had been like dreams of heaven ? Live 
near Jeannette, with the sweet history of our loves 
whispered in my ear by every gentle breeze that passed 
on perfumed wings, and told by every lovely flower, 
and sung by every happy bird that twittered in the 
leafy boughs, and still to know that she could never be 
mine ? It would madden me. I resolved to abandon 
for ever the scenes of my happiness and of my despair. 

“ Next morning, I stole out from my chamber, and 
bent my steps tow^ard a sacred, sequestered spot, down 
by the garden walls. There, alone by a marble tomb- 
stone that glistened among the shrubbery and the 
flowers, I knelt down by my sainted mother’s grave 
and prayed that the pure Heavenly Spirit might watch 
over the wanderings of her wretched boy. A few 
hours later I had left behind me all that I had ever 
known to love, save some hallowed memories that 
will go with me down to the grave. I came here to 
Boston. 

“ While completing my law-studies here some time 
ago, I formed the acquaintance of a most estimable 
man — Dr. Colburn, of this city — who in time became 
very partial to me, and for whom I was soon cherishing 
a warm and cordial attachment. In the hour of my 
need and of my sorrow, I directed my steps to him and 
made known to him the story of my griefs — omitting 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


219 


every thing which I thought might prejudice his 
generous heart against you — and I asked his sympa- 
thy. Noble man that he is, he threw his doors wide 
open to me, and called me ‘ brother, son.’ I have been 
here only a few weeks, yet through his influence and 
through his friendly exertions, I am already beginning 
to get something to do in my profession, and I think 
the way will open to a fair competence if nothing more. 
This is enough. It is all that I desire, for my spirit is 
broken, and ambition is dead. 

“ I have flnished. In writing this letter I have been 
actuated by a sense of duty. That duty, my father, I 
hardly need say has been to me a most painful one. I 
have been forced to dwell on memories that will ever 
cause my heart to bleed. How the theme has affected 
you I know not. I am not quite prepared to believe 
that you regard it as a matter of indifference or little 
consequence. Whether you have listened unfeelingly 
to my story of bitter griefs and blighted hopes; or 
whether your heart has given back a responsive sigh 
of sympathy to the wail of my own ; whether you have 
(smothering all affection by the power of your inordi- 
nate pride) been indignant at my course ; or whether 
(mindful of the tender love you had for the fair-haired 
child you used to tell me of) you have been made 
comfortless at my absence, my feelings for you are 
unaltered. And while I know that it has been through 
your mistakes that the noblest ends and aims of my life 
have been thwarted, and through your errors that all 
my fondest hopes have been blighted and my spirit 
crushed, still you are the same to me that you were in 


220 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


the golden days of my happiness. Even though you 
cast me out from your heart, broken and disinherited, 
I could not forget that you are my father, and as such 
I will ever honor and love you. 

“And now, before I close this letter, I would beg 
that if I have erred in my conduct towards you, you 
may forgive me. If you have committed any wrongs 
upon my feelings, I shall cherish no resentment. It is 
a matter of very great doubt whether or not I shall 
ever see you again. It is a matter of almost certainty 
that I shall never return home except under certain 
contingencies. If in the course of events — if in the 
vicissitudes of fortune, disasters should overtake you ; 
if by a chain or combination of calamitous circumstan- 
ces your riches were swept from you, and you were left 
to povert}^ and want ; or if as unwelcome old age steals 
upon you, it should bring in its train infirmities and 
disease, and you should need a strong arm to lean 
upon, or a loving hand to minister, you have but to call 
and the response will be quick and willing. 

“ Yes, father, under such circumstances, you will find 
me ready to perform with cheerfulness and alacrity the 
affectionate offices and duties of a son, even as though 
nothing had ever happened. 

“And now, with my most sincere and earnest wishes 
for your continued prosperity and health, and my 
prayers for your happiness, now and evermore, I bid 
you farewell. 

“Your son, 

“Henry Melton.” 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


221 


Cold drops of perspiration stood on the wrinkled 
brow of the old man, and his whole frame trembled, 
even to convulsion, with the unspeakable anguish of a 
broken heart. 

“ Help ! Help me, oh, God ! — God of earth, of 
heaven, of mercy — help me, or I sink beneath the 
weight of my burden.” 

It was the first sincere, heart-felt prayer that had 
ever come from the lips of that worldly man, and the 
soul’s petition was heard at the Throne. God sent one 
of His blessed angels down to pour oil upon the 
troubled waters; but ere the silken wings could be 
folded about the troubled heart, the Spirit of Evil, un- 
willing to give his victim up without an effort to retain 
him, dispatched a counter-agent, and that agent was 
the same dark angel that had governed his life, and the 
demon’s name was Pride, Then waged the contest 
between the angels of light and darkness, and the 
struggle was fearful ; for an immortal soul was the 
wager of battle. The face of him in whose bosom the 
strife was raging, bore evidence of the fearfulness of 
that conflict between good and evil. The former was 
gaining the vantage-ground — good was prevailing. 
The fount of tears had been reached. Back, Satan, 
back! The Angel of Merc}^ was drawing nearer — 
and the silvery wings were beginning to shed a light 
o’er a soul that had ever been obscured in the gloom of 
sin. The dark angel was losing his hold ; the sceptre 
he had wielded was about to be broken forever, when 
crying out to his master — the Evil One — for help, he 


222 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


found a coadjutor at the very moment he was about to 
yield his sway.. That coadjutor whispered: 

“ Edwin Melton, you are sick. Brandy ! Brandy ! 
Drink of this cup.” And he in whose bosom the 
contest raged, tremblingly seized the tempter’s prof- 
fered cup and drank a deep draught. 

It was enough. The spirit of darkness had con- 
quered in the strife. 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


223 


CHAPTER XXV. 

FATHER, DAUGHTER AND SON. 

A ffairs at Myrtle Lawn wore an aspect that was 
far from pleasing. In addition to the continued 
absence of Horace Evarts, and the utter inability of his 
father and sister to hear any further definite news from 
him, there were other sources of trouble. For months 
past, Mr. Evart’s pecuniary embarrassments had been 
increasing to an alarming extent. Finally his estate 
became so encumbered, and his finances so disordered, 
that he found it necessary to discontinue his mercantile 
operations. Even by the nicest management, he found 
himself barely able to meet all his obligations, and to 
retain possession of his rural home, with the prospect 
of a moderate income. These combined infiuences 
were assuredly sufficient to give trouble ; but with his 
naturally happy and hopeful disposition, he might have 
withstood these without experiencing any very serious 
depression, had there not been yet another and a still 
greater cause of anxiety and care. 

Ever since the unhappy interview with her lover, 
and his abrupt departure, Jeannette had felt that her 
despair and misery were complete ; and though she 
bore up under her sorrow with a fortitude which was 
truly heroic, she could not be otherwise than all but 
miserable. What still further aggravated her unhappi- 
ness, was the reflection that Henry Melton must also 


224 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


be miserable, and that she was the chief cause of his 
wretchedness. When she thought of this, and of the 
anguish depicted on his face when last she saw him, 
her courage declined, and the undermining influence of 
a passionate grief began to manifest itself in her 
general appearance. She lost her appetite; her sleep 
became feverish and uncertain ; daily she grew thinner, 
and the soft, lustrous eyes, whence the warm love-light 
had been wont to beam, grew sad and tearful. The 
roseate tint of health and beauty was fading from the 
cheek ; the step lost its elastic lightness, and the gently 
subdued voice was losing its music. As a matter of 
course, this change could not long escape the jealous 
watclifulness of her doting father, and it awakened in 
his mind the most painful apprehensions. 

Two weeks had passed since Henry’s departure, 
before Mr. Evarts had any suspicion of the true state 
of affairs. He knew that Henry was absent from 
home, and missed his daily visits to Myrtle Lawn ; but 
supposed he had gone off on some business for his 
father, or on some pleasure trip. The young man’s 
absence did not produce any feelings of mistrust in 
Mr. Evarts’ mind, until it had been protracted to a 
period which gave little plausibility to the idea that it 
was associated either with business or pleasure. Mr. 
Evarts began to connect in his mind this sorrowful 
change in his daughter with young Melton’s absence. 
The more he thought of it the more unaccountable did 
it all seem. 

With a view of clearing away the unhappy mystery, 
Mr. Evarts sought his daughter one evening, some three 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


225 


weeks after the period from which Henry’s absence 
dated. It was about the hour of twilight, on one of the 
pleasant summer evenings, that Jeannette was alone 
in the drawing-room, and she was weeping. Upon her 
lap lay the last letter Henry had sent her — the one he 
had written her on the evening before he had started on 
his Virginia tour, and there were tear-stains upon it. 
Her mind had been going back over the past. She 
had been recalling so many tender memories, so many 
beautiful promises all gilded with the soft light of 
love and hope. All faded ! All broken I All gone ! 
The storm of sorrow was upon her. All about her 
everywhere was gloom and despair. Poor, gentle 
Jeannette. Poor, brave Jeannette. Her courage had 
forsaken her for the time, and her tears of the keenest 
anguish flowed unrestrainedly. 

A hand was placed affectionately on her little head, 
and looking up, she beheld bending over her, her dear 
father. His eyes were filled with tears, and his face 
wore an expression of the deepest solicitude and love. 
Taking her hand within his own and seating himself 
beside her, he gently pushed the dishevelled locks from 
her fair brow, and looking into her tearful eyes, he 
asked : 

“ Why these sad tears, my darling daughter ? Have 
you any hidden sorrows that I know not of? If you 
have, tell me, that your old father may sympathize with 
you, and share your burden.” 

“Are not my brother’s continued absence and the 
knowledge that you are unhappy, sufficient causes for 
weeping?” 

14 


226 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


“Ah, little bird, there is something more behind. 
For several weeks I have watched you with the deepest 
concern. I have seen the bright glow fade from these 
cheeks, the rounded form losing its fullness, the tender 
light of the eyes dimming with unbidden tears, and 
have heard the voice of love and music sinking into 
subdued whispers, full of touching sadness. Ah! 
Jeannette, no sorrow can rest on this dear head with- 
out its being felt in my heart. Tell me what the 
great trouble is, that your moral strength and your 
heavenly faith cannot successfully combat.” 

Without a word, she took the letter from the folds of 
her dress where she had hidden it, and handing it to 
her father, she threw her arms around his neck and 
sobbed convulsively. He pressed the unhappy girl to 
his bosom, and after quieting her agitation, proceeded 
to read the letter. We will not attempt to portray his 
various emotions as he read it. Pity, grief, indignation, 
held alternate sway over his soul. Now his brow would 
contract with anger. A moment later, his face relax- 
ing, would lose its sternness, and every feature soften 
with the utmost tenderness. For two or three minutes 
after he had finished reading the letter, he sat perfectly 
silent and motionless; then turning to Jeannette, asked 
in a slightly reproachful tone : 

“ My daughter, why have you thus long kept all this 
a secret from me I ” 

“ Oh I dearest* papa, please do not censure me ! ” 

“ Papa does not censure his poor, unhappy little 
darling. I could not find it in this old heart to 
reproach you for anything, even were you to deserve 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


227 


censure; and in this case you do not. I was only 
grieved and hurt that you had been laboring under a 
load of sorrow to which your strength was unequal, 
and that you were struggling with it alone, without 
letting me carry a part of your burden.” 

“ Oh, papa, I knew that you had troubles enough of 
your own, and did not wish to add to your unhappi- 
ness by revealing mine.” 

‘‘ Did you think that you could keep it hidden from 
me any length of time ? ” 

“ I did not think it impossible, papa ; and for your 
sake I desired to do so.” 

“ Did you not know that the protracted absence of 
Henry would awaken suspicions in my mind, and 
prompt a strict inquiry ? ” 

“ I thought each day, papa, that he would return. I 
had no idea whatever, that he would adopt a course so 
unwise, and one which was so calculated to increase 
the unhappiness of myself and all concerned. If he 
had remained at home, I had intended to account to 
you for the infrequency of his visits here, by telling 
you that I had broken off our engagement, hoping that 
further disclosure would not be necessary.” 

“ Did you imagine, dear little child, that you could 
be miserable and I remain in ignorance of it : that this 
sad change in your manner and appearance could 
escape my notice ? ” 

“ I did not suppose that any perceptible alteration 
w'ould occur; for I thought (relying on Him who doeth 
all things well) I had strength enough to enable me to 
bear up bravely under all the trials that would ever 
come upon me.” 


228 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


“ Yet, Jeannette, you see that your strength has 
proved insufficient.” 

“ Not insufficient, dear papa, for the pangs of iny 
own disappointment and sorrow. I might combat 
these successfully, and bear with meekness and 
patience all my personal griefs and cares. It is the 
sorrow I feel in sympathy with the woes of others that 
has added an insupportable weight to my burden. 
Were you but happy, dear papa; were my darling 
brother only at home, with the dark shadow of sorrow 
removed from his pathway ; were Henry cheerful under 
the blight of our heart-hopes, and did the world know 
Nora Lavine as I only know her, I could endure my 
heart’s disappointment, and murmur not. While I 
could never escape the pangs which the memory of my 
broken love would bring me, I could live a life of 
cheerfulness — aye, even of happiness, if that happiness 
were in sympathy with the dear ones of my heart.” 

Mr. Evarts was about to make some reply, but was 
interrupted by the entrance of a servant who brought 
in the evening’s mail. He received it; then turning to. 
his daughter, said : 

“ My little girl had best retire now. Try not to be 
unhappy for my sake. Let us trust that the skies will 
grow brighter ere long.” 

The young girl arose, and bending over her old 
father, laid her face against his, and said : “ One kiss, 
dear papa, and I will be better.” 

Mr. Evarts was engaged for some time looking over 
business letters and packages, before he came to one 
with an unknown superscription, bearing the post-mark 
of a city in France. It read as follows : 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


229 


“ My Dear Sir : — At the request of your son, and 
in accordance with my own views, I write. My name 

is Rosas, of the medical staff of General , of the 

army of Spain, and I am officially the attendant of 
Capt. Evarts, who has been made brevet-colonel for 
gallant and meritorious conduct on the bloody field of 

Mont-S . The fact that I am in medical attendance 

upon him, need not cause you any serious alarm ; for 
though he was painfully and dangerously wounded 
some five weeks ago, in a most heroic charge before the 
walls of our rescued city, and though for two weeks I 
had almost despaired of his recovery, he is now in a 
state of decided convalescence, and I think can at once 
proceed, without any danger, on his way to join you 
and his sister, of whom he has often spoken to me with 
the most touching tenderness. That Col. Evarts was 
wounded under any circumstances, was distressing to 
all : for every officer and soldier that knew him, loved 
the young hero. But the gallantry and daring dis- 
played on the occasion — which will ever be memorable 
— almost buried sorrow and grief in wonder and 
admiration, and made him a mark of envy, not only to 
all his comrades, but also to his superiors. When I 
say ‘ superiors,’ I mean superiors in military rank ; for 
from what I have seen of him, Horace Evarts, in quite 
all other respects, has no superior. 

“ As a matter of interest and pride, I herewith send 
you the official account of the battle, clipped from a 
paper published at Madrid, containing a most compli- 
mentary mention of your son’s name, and the part he 
acted on the bloody day. And while I know it can not 


230 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


mitigate your sorrow at his past sufferings, it must 
elate your heart with pride. 

“ Col. Evarts’ wound I found to be very dangerous. 
The ball entered the left breast just above the cardiac 
region, and ranging through the upper part of the lung, 
passed out near the spinal column. I thought from the 
beginning that his case was a most serious one, and 
required the greatest care to conduct it to a happy 
termination. Of course for some time after he received 
the wound, the depression was great from loss of blood ; 
but as soon as the reaction came on, inflammation set 
in, and often during the greater part of a fortnight, he 
was in a delirium of fever. 

“To give a detailed narration of the development 
and progress of his case would hardly be advisable, 
inasmuch as the relation would call to your mind his 
acute sufferings, and thereby give 3^ou additional pain. 
During your son’s delirium, his mind generally dwelt 
upon his home, and oftentimes he would call, tenderly, 
the names of ‘ father, sister,’ and as his face would light 
up with a smile, he would drop off into a refreshing 
slumber, from which, for the most part, he would 
awaken brightened and improved. 

“At other times, however, during the highest stages 
of fever, I discovered that his thoughts turned upon 
some great real or imaginary disappointment of the 
affections. You may say that I should have closed my 
ears to the ravings which betrayed the hidden secrets 
of his heart; but my apology is that I felt it my duty, 
as his friend and medical attendant, to study the work- 
ings of his mind in order that I might, as far as 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


231 


possible, divert it from thoughts which exercised a 
deleterious influence, and to turn those into a channel 
where healthy action might come into play. The 
mental and physical systems are so closely allied that 
influences operating on the one will almost certainly 
more or less affect the other. With this observation, I 
would enjoin upon you the necessity of keeping your 
son as much as possible from highly exciting influences, 
at least for a while, as any sudden very disturbing 
causes might force the blood so rapidly and violently 
to the wounded organ that hemorrhage might result, 
and if his life were not immediately endangered, his 
permanent recovery might be retarded. 

“About a week ago, in obedience to instructions 

from General , after consulting with hiip, I started 

to attend your son in his journey homewards. Thus 
far he has stood the journey remarkably well, and has 
suffered no inconvenience or check in his convalescence. 
I do not think any danger now need be apprehended, 
as the greatest care will be taken of him, and we will 
travel no long distance at one time. My orders are to 
see him to Havre, and remain with him until I am 
thoroughly satisfied he can travel thence by steamer to 
New York without the slightest risk of endangering his 
life or health from the cause of his wound. When I 
bid Col. Evarts adieu at Havre, I shall place him in 
charge of friends, who will see that he has every atten- 
tion during his voyage to New York. Of course he 
will inform you immediately of his arrival there. 

“ I do not know that I have anything further to say. 
Col. Evarts, with the tender care and attention which 


232 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


he will receive when once at home, will, I have no 
doubt, entirely recover in the course of a month or two, 
and will be as strong and as healthy as if he had never 
received the wound which came so near terminating 
his life. 

“And now, sir, with my congratulations on the 
additional honor conferred on your name by the 
gallant conduct of your noble son, and most ardently 
desirous of his very speedy and permanent restoration, 
and wishing you and yours long continued prosperity 
and happiness, I beg to subscribe myself, 

“ Yours very truly, 

“C. Rosas, M. D.’’ 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


233 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

HORACE EVARTS’ RETURN. 

I T was on a soft, balmy evening, in the month of 
August, that Horace Evarts, his father and sister, 
were engaged in pleasant conversation, out on the 
portico at Myrtle Lawn. Horace had been home only 
a few weeks, yet, thanks to the kind attentions and 
gentle nursing of his father and sister, had so much 
improved as to be able to stroll about the rooms of the 
mansion, and even to walk a little about the grounds 
without any assistance. 

On this evening, in particular, there was a marked 
improvement in his feelings and appearance. He was 
gradually regaining his flesh; the fine color wa^ coming 
back to the cheek; the dark eyes were beginning to 
shine with their old lustre; and, as he sat in the 
cushioned chair, with his sister standing behind him 
combing the black, curly locks from the high forehead, 
he looked something like the Horace Evarts we used 
to know, when hearts were light and the future full 
of promise. After a time, he said : 

“ There, little Sis, that- will do. Put up your 
comb and brush now — but let me give you a kiss 
for being so good.” 

Jeannette received the kiss — looked pleased, and 
was doubly repaid for a service which had been to her 
a pleasure ; then putting her arm around her brother’s 
neck, she cried: 


234 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


“ Now I must give you a kiss for being so kind, and 
loving ‘ little Sis ’ so fondly.” 

Horace looked up at her with ineffable tenderness, 
then turning to his father, said : 

“ How would you and Sis like a ride this evening, 
father?” 

“ Nothing could possibly be more agreeable to me, 
my son ; but I apprehend it might not be prudent for 
you to turn out quite yet. What think you ? ” 

“ Oh, I am well enough, and besides I consulted 
Dr. Llewellyn, this morning, on the subject. He told 
me if the evening was clear and pleasant, and I felt 
inclined to take a little exercise, the ride would in all 
likelihood prove beneficial.” 

“ Then, dear *papa, let us go by all means,” cried 
Jeannette, who was pleasurably excited with the idea of 
once more riding out with her father and brother. 

“ Very well. You, birdie, ring the bell, and send 
orders to Casper for the carriage.” Away flew Jean- 
nette, like a birdie, sure enough, and singing just as 
merrily as she went. 

In a few moments, a commodious open carriage 
appeared in front of the lawn gate. Horace, leaning on 
his father’s arm, walked down the lawn avenue ; while 
Jeannette ran gleefully on in front. 

The trio having comfortably seated themselves, were 
soon driving rapidly through the village, and in a few 
minutes were out on the fine roads in the country. 
Here a great many things, calculated to charm, were 
presented to their view. Bright green meadows, whose 
verdure autumn had not yet touched, were ranged side 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


235 


by side with broad fields of ripening grain, and formed 
pleasing features in the landscape. Hundreds of fine 
cattle grazed upon the wide valley extending from 
hillside to stream. Wild birds fioated lazily on the 
waters, and the sky-lark, poised on golden wings, sang 
merrily. Here the scared hare leaped nimbly o’er the 
hedgeway, frightening a covey of birds, that flew from 
the underbrush to an adjoining copse. Now they 
would meet some pretty little country girl, with laugh- 
ing eyes and bright locks straying from beneath a saucy 
little hood, carrying on her plump, half-bare arms a 
basket of grapes to the village market place. Or again, 
as they passed some neat, white cottage-home, they 
would be at a loss which most to admire — the beauti- 
fully arranged little flower-plots and white gravel-walks, 
or the fair-haired, happy children that played thereon. 

Although it was a most pleasant evening for them 
all, none of them had passed as happy an hour for 
months. Jeannette, particularly, was almost jubilant. 
For a long while she had been brooding in secret over 
crushing sorrows. She had dwelt with the most 
painful emotions on the recollection of the despair and 
misery of one who had ever been, and still was dearer 
to her than all else on earth. Often, too, had she 
wiped the tears away that would gather, as she saw the 
expression of painful anxiety or sadness which so 
frequently rested on the face of her father. For the 
last few weeks, too, she had been closely confined, 
watching with unremitting vigilance and tenderness 
over a dearly beloved brother, whose condition had 
excited in her anxious mind the deepest solicitude. 


236 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


For this hour, at least, the fetters were broken. 
Every thing unpleasant had for the time faded from 
memory’s tablet. Jeannette, a pure, gentle child of 
Nature, full of love, surrounded by the beautiful, 
exhilarated by the fresh, pleasant air, and gladdened 
by the bright skies and the lovely landscapes, felt like 
a bird — as she was — just turned loose upon a beautiful 
world, after having gazed, for a time, through the bars 
of a darkened cage, to a lovely landscape of vines, 
fruits, and of flowers. For one short hour she was 
happy, and indulged her feelings unrestrainedly. Her 
laughter was as glad and as joyous as the liveliest 
strains of music. Her short snatches of song were 
tender or gay, and rivalled in melody and beauty the 
gladsome notes of the wild forest birds. 

Mr. Evarts gazed upon the fair face of the radiant 
^eing before him, and his eyes filled with pleasant tears 
as he contemplated her happiness. The fond brother, 
rejoicing in her delight, forgot, for the time, every 
unhappy feeling, and enjoyed a sacred pleasure that he 
had not known for nearly a long, miserable year. Oh, 
pity, that he was soon to be reminded, and so cruelly, 
of that disappointment which had embittered his life. 
Pity, that the old man’s cup of joy was so soon to be 
dashed. Pity, that the gladsome notes of the happy 
birdie were so soon to be hushed to silence, and that a 
cry of anguish was to be substituted for the music of 
merriment. 

On their return, the party approached the village by 
a different road. Every thing went on happily enough 
until they had got within half a mile of the town; 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


237 


when suddenly there was a marked change in the 
appearance of Horace. The dark eyes, which a 
moment before shone brightly, lost their lustre. The 
lips, which had just been uttering exclamations of 
pleasure, were now silent, and quivered with suppressed 
emotion. The cheek, which had been glowing with the 
flush of returning health, suddenly became of almost 
ashen paleness. J eannette was the first to discover her 
brother’s altered appearance, and looked up into his 
face with an expression of the most eager and anxious 
inquiry. He understood her uneasiness, and replied to 
her silent question by slowly raising his arm and 
pointing with his trembling finger towards the cottage 
of the Lavines, which now stood in full view, some few 
hundred yards to the right. 

“ Sister, what has become of of her? ” 

“ She is there, brother, and well.” — Jeannette might 
have stopped here, but she did not imagine what effect 
her words would have, nor could she have restrained 
the feeling which prompted her to impulsively add : — 
“ And as guiltless as I am I ” 

His face was bloodless and marble-like, and, with a 
wild, almost meaningless stare in his eyes, he almost 
gasped : 

“ Who — says — so ? ” 

“Be calm, my boy,” said his father, who had 
become much alarmed at the tone and manner of his 
son. “ Jeannette loves Nora Lavine, and her conclu- 
sions may be erroneous, as her judgment is biased by 
her affection. Yet, what she says may be true. There 
has been a very great reaction in the sentiment of the 


238 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


people here, during the last six months, in favor of the 
unfortunate girl ; and, though possibly many cling to 

the opinion that she is is unworthy, there are still 

very many who, taking the example of her outward 
meekness and piety as evidence of her purity and 
virtue, think as Jeannette does.” 

The face of the younger man manifested' the inten- 
sity of his emotions, and his whole system was agitated 
with violent excitement. His father became painfully 
alarmed, and immediately sought to change the subject. 

“ Horace, Dr. Rosas is a noble man. I can never 
forget him for his kindness and his faithfulness to you. 
Have you written to him since you came home ? ” 

“ Yes, father, soon after my arrival.” 

There was a painful pause. 

“ What did you think of the official report which 
General gave of the battle of Mont-S ?” 

“ It was generally a faithful account.” 

“ You really ought to feel proud indeed, to see your 
name so prominently in the report. He speaks of your 
bearing as gallant and meritorious in the extreme, and 
ascribes to you in a very great measure the success of 
the day. I tell you, Horace, there is not a nobleman 
in that Kingdom who would not be proud to call you 
‘ son.’ I am proud o^ you, my boy ; but I have always 
been so, and I can not love you any more now than I 
have ever done. But see, we are entering the village.” 

The carriage had not gone the length of a square, 
before Jeannette, with dismay, saw Nora La vine 
approaching from a direction which rendered a meeting 
inevitable. Nora, it was evident, did not recognize the 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


239 


carriage, for when it came in sight, she merely glanced 
casually at it, and then continued leisurely twirling her 
sun-bonnet, and occasionally turning to say something 
to an attendant \vho walked behind, carrying in her 
arms some small bundles of merchandise just purchased 
in the village. Jeannette looked anxiously at her 
brother, and attempted to direct his attention to some 
object on the opposite side of the street. It was too 
late. Horace had seen her; his gaze was fixed upon 
the approaching figure, and his face was deathlike in 
its ghastly pallor. Nora raised her eyes; they met his ; 
she started as if she had received an electric shock — 
was motionless for one instant — suddenly moved on, 
and was out of sight. All the blood in the body of 
Horace rushed upon his brain, his heart and his lungs. 
The excitement had been too intense. The wound was 
opened afresh. With a low moan, he sank back upon 
the pillows which supported him, and a crimson tide 
gushed from his mouth and nostrils, and dyed the pure 
white cases. 

* * * * * 

Pale and almost breathless, Nora Lavine hastily 
entered her mother’s chamber, at Elmwood. 

“ Mother, oh ! mother,” she exclaimed, “ I have seen 
him.” 

Seen whom? What is the matter, Nora?” 

“JTm, mother. He looked so pale, so sad, so wan, 
wretched, and so broken-hearted. And, mother, his 
look, though reproachful, was yet so full of pity — so 
full of forgiveness. Oh ! mother, he still believes me 
the guilty outcast which the hateful world called me ; 


240 


MTETLE LAWN. 


N. 


yet he has loved me so fondly, that he cannot find it 
in his heart to condemn ; and though he knows that 
ever hereafter we are to be nought but strangers, still, 
mother, he loves me yet.” 

“ And, my poor child, you love him too ? ” 

“ Love him ? Have I ever ceased to love him, 
mother ? ” 

“No; but I thought you had so far conquered your 
love as to be able to control your feelings.” 

“ I had ; but it was when I thought he despised me 
as others do : when I thought that his love for me was 
dead, forever dead. Mother, I would gladly die this 
hour, if my death would secure him happiness, and 
convince him of my innocence and my love.” 

“ God help you, my darling Nora.” 

“ Yes, mother, G-od help me. But has not my trial 
been enough? Will He never come ? Will He never 
remove this cloud of shame that rests upon me ? Oh ! 
mother! how long — how long?” 

“ In His good time. Trust Him, Nora.” 

“ Father, oh. Father, I believe. Help Thou me.” 

The young girl, with clasped hands, fell upon her 
knees, and raised her tearful eyes heavenward. 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


241 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

IN LEGAL PRACTICE. 

I N the city of Boston, away up Bruce street, quite 
removed from the noise, excitement, and hubbub 
of the business thoroughfares, stood the residence of 
Dr. Colburne. It was a quiet, jjeaeeful, pretty home, 
making no pretensions to stately display. The house 
did not contain many rooms, and though there were no 
imposing surroundings or handsome statuary, the gen- 
eral appearance of the place was pleasing, and even 
inviting. The peculiar style of architecture, the beau- 
tiful verandas, almost hidden by flowery vines, the 
decorated yard, and pretty walks, combined to produce 
a pleasant and picturesque appearance. In the left 
front corner of the yard stood the very neatest little 
office conceivable. The painting was of snowy white- 
ness, relieved by the subdued green of the blinds. 

In this office, before a table heaped with books and 
papers, on a morning early in September, Henry Mel- 
ton sat. He had altered much since we knew him as 
a favored and happy lover. Upon the lofty brow now 
rested an unmistakable expression of profound melan- 
choly. The eyes were bright, but it was a cold, feel- 
ingless lustre, and the cheek paler, and somewhat 
sunken. This change might have been the result of a 
sedentary mode of life, or of severe and continued 
application to study; but it would not have required 
15 


242 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


the penetration of a physiognomist to have discovered 
that Henry Melton had suffered greatly from some 
severe disappointment, over which he was secretly 
brooding. Yet he had asked for sympathy from one 
who knew all the story of the past ; had asked that 
comfort and consolation which true friendship rarely 
fails to give. That sympathy had been freely given, 
and with grateful appreciation he acknowledged to 
himself that Dr. Colburne was the truest and warmest 
friend he had ever known. 

Doubtless this was true. 

In the darkest hour of his life, when the future 
seemed to Henry one cheerless, dreary, hopeless blank, 
and his heart was bowed down with its despair and 
misery ; when he imagined himself a disinherited exile, 
and a wanderer on an unbeaten track, unable to turn 
back but pursued and driven onward by a remorseless 
agency ; found his little barque driven by adverse 
winds from the haven where it had rested, and saw it 
drifting and being tossed about ’mid storms, upon an 
untried sea, with no helmsman to steer it off the shoals, 
and no friendly light-house to warn him. of the breakers ; 
not knowing which way to look for comfort or light, 
with his heart sinking within him, and hope about to 
abandon him forever to the gloom; he peered out 
through the storms and o’er the waters, and saw one 
little ray struggling with the darkness. The friend- 
ship of Edward Colburne proved the beacon-light to 
guide the lost one into port. 

Doctor Colburne, though quite a young man, and 
barely known among men of science, had established a 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


243 


most enviable reputation, was highly successful in his 
practice, and was popular and influential throughout 
the entire circle of his acquaintance. By the means 
of his profession he had already added largely to the 
handsome fortune he had inherited, and might have 
made much display, but his generous soul saw no pleas- 
ure in gilded show, and he preferred to spend the sur- 
plus of his income in deeds of charity and kindness. 
At the age of thirty-five, he was honored and loved, 
and besides this he was happy. Useful, honest, active 
and benevolent, and ever mindful of that Divine law, 
“ Love thy neighbor as thyself,” he had the inward con- 
sciousness that he was doing his duty to his God, to 
himself, and to his fellowmen. 

Withal, his home was a little Eden. When the 
duties of the day were done, and he had, for a time, 
quitted the business-walks of his daily life, he would 
seek the rest and quiet of his home. There, surrounded 
by everything that was pleasing and elegant ; with an 
amiable and attractive young wife, whose tender devo- 
tion was his soul’s joy ; and with two rosy-faced, silken- 
haired children climbing about him, while their joyous 
prattle was his heart’s music, his hours passed in a 
domestic felicity that scarcely knew alloy. 

Henry Melton entered this happy home as a friend 
and brother ; and, unaccustomed as he was to such 
scenes of domestic joy, viewed the picture with strange 
feelings of mingled delight and sadness. Delight, be- 
cause he loved Dr. Colburne, and he loved those whom 
he loved ; and he felt the greatest satisfaction and 
pleasure in witnessing their happiness. Sadness, 


244 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


because it suggested to him what a happy lot his own 
might have been ; what blessings he, too, might have 
known had it not been for the fatal mistakes and the 
almost unscrupulous ambition of the one whom he was 
by duty and by nature bound to honor and love. 
Sometimes after looking upon this scene of holy affec- 
tion he would be so forcibly and painfully reminded of 
the happiness he had once known, and of the feelings he 
had once experienced in anticipation of what the future 
had promised him, that he would retire to his room 
and, giving way to his emotions, would feel in all its 
bitterness the anguish of his disappointment, and 
beneath it was almost ready to sink. By powerful 
effort and determined will he managed to conceal these 
emotions from his friends, and when he appeared in 
their presence — after he had been with them a week 
or two — the only feeling which his countenance 
betrayed was delight in their peace and happiness. 

Time passed on. As the weeks flew by, under the 
influences by which he was surrounded, young Melton’s 
mind began to regain something of its former tone, and 
the violence of his feelings somewhat abated. He was 
far from being happy, and notwithstanding all the con- 
siderate and affectionate attentions of his friends, 
could not keep his thoughts from wandering back and 
dwelling almost continually on the memories associated 
with the name of Jeannette Evarts. Those memories 
could never be forgotten ; those blighted hopes could 
never revive. The future held no promise ; there was 
no ray on the horizon. He knew that he could never 
forget the past, would never cease to love, and yet he 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


245 


had given up all hope of ever making her his wife; 
scarcely thought of ever seeing her again. His hopes 
were all broken : the past was all an unhappy dream. 

He felt that his life had been a failure, and though 
the miserable fact was ever before him, he began to 
look upon the situation with calmness and fortitude. 

He had been a member of Doctor Colburne’s family 
about a month, and so preoccupied had been his mind 
that he had scarcely thought of the change in his 
pecuniary affairs, and had not realized the fact that in 
a short time he must either be a dependant on the 
bounty of his friend, or rely on his own exertions for a 
livelihood. Fortunately, he had an honorable profes- 
sion, and he determined to try and make it a means of 
support. Out of the small sum of money he possessed, 
he proposed to supply himself with all the books calcu- 
lated to aid him, and to use the remainder only in 
defraying necessary expenses. When he had matured 
his plans he made them known to his friend, asking his 
opinion and counsel. The unfeigned pleasure which 
Dr. Colburne manifested at the proposition was cer- 
tainly not due to any considerations of selfish economy, 
for he loved Melton so much that he would gladly have 
given him a home in his family indefinitely, but because 
he foresaw, with ready sagacit}^ the good which must 
result from the execution of the plans proposed. He 
knew that active mental employment would be the 
means of diversion for Melton’s mind, and that when 
he had once become deeply interested in the duties 
of his vocation, he would in a measure, forget his 
cruel disappointment, and be no longer a prey to the 


246 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


tormenting memories which had threatened, not only 
to undermine his health, but almost to destroy his 
reason. 

Ill a short time, through Colburne’s aid and influence 
he had made every necessary preparation — had become 
acquainted with many prominent members of the bar, 
and, contrary to the experience of almost all young 
lawyers, found little difficulty in getting into a busi- 
ness, that from the very start promised well for the 
future. It is true that he did not enter upon his duties 
with that eagerness and earnestness which characterize 
an ardent, sanguine beginner, for he was almost entirely 
without that stimulus, ambition, which gives zeal to 
action. Still he possessed superior talents ; and, though 
his labors now were chiefly mechanical, they were 
steadfast and untiring, and looked to the future for 
fruitful results. He devoted himself to his studies and 
his practice with assiduity, not so much with any desire 
to acquire fame, or to attain prominence, as that the 
active employment of his mental faculties afforded 
some relief to his mind, which otherwise would have 
been almost continually racked with the torturing 
memories of blighted hopes. 

He had been with Dr. Colburne about three months, 
when we find him one evening — as stated at the 
beginning of this chapter — seated at his desk, with 
his thoughts fixedly engaged on a complicated case, 
which had recently been entrusted to him. So deeply 
intent was his mind on the business before him, that a 
hasty tap at the door was twice repeated, before it 
attracted his attention. At last when he opened the 


MYRTLE LAvVif. 


247 


door, a messenger appeared, who thrust into his hand a 
slip of paper, on which were the following lines, evidently- 
written in much haste : 

“Dear Henry. — You are needed in your profes- 
sional capacity immediately. The case I spoke to you 
of last night (in which a man was shot by the brother 
of a lady whom he had ruined) is about to terminate 
fatally. The wounded man cannot possibly live more 
than a few hours. He knows this, and appears anxious 
to make a deposition before he dies. I have sent for 
an officer, in the presence of whom the declaration 
must be sworn to ; and it is necessary for one of your 
profession to do the writing. Come immediately to 
room 50, second floor, Hotel Auverne. 

“ Yours &c., 

“Ed. Colbtjrnb.’* 


2iS 


MYHTT.E LAWN. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A reprobate’s confession. 

T the Hotel Auverne, in a handsomely furnished 



apartment, where various articles of a gentleman’s 
toilet and some pieces of jewelry lay upon the marble 
slab of a splendid bureau, were gathered three men 
around the bedside of one who, there in the mellow, 
golden light, lay dying. He could not have been more 
than thirty-five years of age, this dying man. He 
might have been younger, for it was apparent that he 
was vastly changed from what he must have been in 
health, so that it was impossible accurately to guess his 
age. There was no mistaking the fact, however, that 
he had been strikingly handsome. His features, now 
perfectly pallid, were still regular and attractive, and 
though much contorted now, must once have been in 
beautiful harmony with each other. 

Long, black locks, dishevelled by his restless move- 
ments, lay scattered over the pillows, and the dark eye, 
though clouded by his rapidly approaching dissolution, 
was still brilliant enough to have told the looker-on 
that its light had once wielded a power for good or evil. 
The dying man seemed to suffer no physical pain, but 
the expression of his face revealed the utter hopeless- 
ness of the heart, and the acute anguish of anticipated 
torture. 

At the foot of the bed, a civil officer, utterly 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


249 


unmoved, stood gazing at this picture of horror. Per- 
haps he had witnessed such scenes before. At a table 
near by, sat a young man with portfolio, pen and ink 
before him. He looked upon the face of the dying man 
and — shuddered. By the side of the bed a kindly 
looking man was standing. In one hand he held a 
glass containing some fluid; the fingers of the other 
rested upon the pulse of him whose hours evidently 
were numbered. It was the physician, whose skill had 
failed him here ; he was counting the heart’s pulsations. 

‘‘Are you sufficiently composed, think you, to say 
what you desire ? ” he inquired. 

“ As composed as I shall ever be. At any rate, let 
me begin. Let the last act of my life be one of repara- 
tion. Probably it may save me one torture in that 
world where I go to suffer the penalties of crimes 
committed in this. Swear me. Magistrate.” 

The officer administered the oath. 

“ Are you ready to take down his words, Mr. 
Melton?” 

“Heady,” was the scarcely uttered response, when 
the dying man, with a sudden effort, rose up in bed, 
and exclaimed : 

“ Melton, Melton, did you say ? Are you Henry 
Melton of the village of , near Baltimore, in Mary- 

land ? ” 

“lam; and in the name of Heaven, who are you ? 
It strikes me I have seen that face before, all changed 
though it be ; and the voice, sounding so strangely 
familiar to my ear, has touched a chord in my memory.” 

“ You shall know directly. Enough for the moment, 


250 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


that there is only one other man on earth whom I 
would rather see now than you.” 

The Doctor administered a spoonful of the medicine 
he held, and then bade the dying man make the decla- 
ration he desired. 

“ It would be a painful duty, under other circum- 
stances,” he thus began, “ that urges me now to make a 
revelation, which will necessarily render my name 
detestable to good men. But why should I be deterred 
from its performance by any sentiment of shame, when 
in a few hours I shall appear before that dread Tri- 
bunal, before which all others sink into mere nothing- 
ness. I propose to be brief. My name is Eldred 
Randal. I was born in 1842, in a town about a 
hundred miles from the city of New York. I never 
knew a mother, for in giving me existence she ended 
her own. My father, who was a kind-hearted, generous 
man, was wealthy and highly respected in the commu- 
nity in which he lived. Owing to the sad circum- 
stances connected with my birth, and also to my 
father’s affectionate and indulgent nature, I was much 
petted, and he was possibly more fond of me than he 
was of his only other child — my brother. At any 
rate, when I was ten years old I was willful and spoiled, 
knowing scarce any authority or law but my own 
inclination. When I was nearly sixteen and my 
brother was almost twenty, our father died, and we 
were left almost alone in the world, with very few 
kindred, masters of ourselves and our actions, with a 
joint inheritance of sixty thousand dollars. Having 
from earliest childhood been accustomed to do as I 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


251 


pleased, without restraining influence of any kind, and 
being of a quick, sociable and impulsive temperament, 
it is not much to be wondered at that I had, even at 
that early age, formed associations and contracted 
habits which proved the foundation of my future ruin, 
and brought me here — where you see me now. 

“ It is not my purpose to show how step by step I 
descended the ladder that leads to the pit, and was 
gradually drawn into the net-work which the devil 
spreads out for the children of men. At eighteen 
years, I was a profligate spendthrift, and at twenty-one, 
an unprincipled libertine, who had squandered two- 
thirds of his inheritance in gambling, in dissipation 
and in amorous intrigues. About this time, my 
brother, who had joined the army and was an officer 
fighting the Rebels out in the South and West, was 
killed ; and, inheriting his property, I was again rich. 
Instead of reforming my life, I plunged more recklessly 
into the vortex of madness and ruin. My conscience 
was silent. I had made it callous by repeated sins. I 
thought it was silent forever; and I rejoiced that I was 
no longer to be annoyed by its upbraidings. I was 
mistaken ; it only slumbered ; but it slept so deeply 
that it required a powerful agent to awaken it. Yet it 
did awaken, and the Angel of Mercy gave me still 
another warning ere He left me to myself. I became 
truly enamored of a most beautiful young maiden, and 
I loved her with a purity and purpose I had never 
known before. Her life was as fragrant and as beauti- 
ful as the flowers that she twined in her golden hair. 
She was as guileless and as innocent as the heavenly 


252 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


angels, whose prototype she was. Irene — heaven-sent 
Irene — loved me as tenderly as I loved* her, gave me 
all her confidence, and trusted me with her life and 
with her honor — what else could she give me but her 
soul ? Had I followed honor’s impulses and my own 
inclinations, I should have married her, and in all 
probability would have been a better and a happier 

man. But she was poor and of plebeian birth, and had 
nothing to recommend her save purity, beauty, inno- 
cence and a fair name. My companions laughed me 
to scorn for the idea of making her my wife, and called 
me fool for not enjoying the privileges of a husband 
without in reality becoming one. 

“We were never married. She — Irene, heaven’s 
last messenger to my soul — died ; died with a broken 
heart, dishonored, ere her unborn child could curse its 
father with the first wail of existence. I heard it all. 
I knew who the damned demon was that had wrought 
the ruin. Lord, what wretchedness ! Lord, what 
harrowing thoughts seized upon me ! It was the 
greatest of all my crimes, and when I realized it in all 
its enormity, I was stricken dumb with terror. I wept 
and grieved, and resolved henceforth to lead an 
upright, virtuous life; and to atone, as far as I was 

able, for the errors and crimes of the past. My peni- 
tence did not last long. My courage, in the midst of 
old associations, gave way. In my old haunts my 
firmness failed me. An invisible hand led me back out 
of the paths I was feebly endeavoring to tread, and 
again I was in the world’s fair garden, where lovely 
flowers concealed the poisonous fangs of hissing 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


253 


serpents, and where siren -voices lulled the charmed 
one on to death. I gathered the fruits that lay in my 
way, and greedily devoured them. 

“Sometimes conscience came tremhlingly with soft 
whispers, but I shouted ‘ silence ’ and the devil echoed 
‘ Silence.’ Angels, weeping, came down from above, 
and with outstretched hands, imploringly, would beckon 
me back from the pit whence my feet were standing. 
I shut my eyes upon the vision of mercy, and the devil 
kept them closed. 

“From that time I was his^ and with him I made a 
covenant. Have I not been faithful to it ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! ” 

At this stage of the narration, the feelings of the 
dying man were worked up to such a degree of excite- 
ment, that he was unable to proceed. His language 
became incoherent, and entirely irrelevant, and he 
broke out into peals of wild demoniac laughter. For 
some minutes, Henry Melton — who had become deeply 
interested in the relation, and who had from the 
beginning been impressed with an intuitive presenti- 
ment that with this man’s story hung the weal or woe 
of some whom he loved, and probably with his own 
destiny — was in dreadful suspense, lest the doomed 
man should die in this state of delirium, or that his 
reason would not be restored in time for him to make 
further disclosures. He cast an uneasy and inquiring 
look at his friend. Dr. Colburne, who replied to the 
mute gaze by saying: 

“ Be easy, Henry, the paroxysm is nearly over.” 

And so it was. In a few moments the wild expres- 
sion faded from the dying man’s face and gave way to 


254 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


the light of restored reason. Henry felt relieved of 
a terrible suspense when he heard the sufferer, in a 
calm, steady voice, say: 

“ My mind has wandered, has it not. Doctor ? ” 

“Yes,” returned the physician, “you were delirious a 
few moments, but you are much better now.” 

“ Doctor, do not let me fall into that condition again. 
How long have I yet ? ” 

“ Possibly two or three hours ; but I would advise 
that you be as laconic as consistent with your purpose. 
If you recollect where you were interrupted, you can 
resume now.” 

“ Let me see. Oh, yes, I remember well enough. 
Well, after this, my whole life was one tissue of false- 
hood and villainy. I need not enter into its details. 
They would not aid my efforts in attaining the end at 
which I aim. I could give every incident of my life, 
and every crime I ever committed against innocence 
and virtue, for they all appear before me now in their 
most hideous deformity in this terrible hour of my 
doom. A recital of them would do no good. The 
hour of atonement is for ever gone. I can not now 
make any amends. There is one case, however, that I 
can set right. One case that lies shrouded in mystery : 
that has blighted the happiness of more than one heart. 
That mystery it lies with me alone to clear away. 
I would do so before I die, and to that end I am 
drifting.” 

There was a slight pause, and the speaker’s eyes 
turned upon Henry Melton, who, with nervous impa- 
tience, cried out: “ Go on ! go on ! ” 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


255 


The dying man resumed : 

“ As I said, my whole life became a tissue of false- 
hood and crime — a war against virtue, both in man 
and woman. I revelled in luxury by impoverishing the 
one at the gaming table, and feasted my carnal soul by 
poisoning the lips of the other through the base arts of 
the seducer. 

“You shudder. Doctor? Well you may. I have 
seen others do the same. Not as you, but even as I do 
now as I stand upon the brink of the awful abyss, and 
gaze into the burning gulf beyond. Doctor, give me 
more of your medicine.” 

The physician administered the soothing potion, and 
the narrator went on : — 

“ Henry Melton, are you attentive ? Listen well.” 

“ In mercy, go on.” 

“ Something near a year ago I went to your town, I 
had a diabolical purpose in view when I made the visit ; 
but when I went there I had no designs at first against 
some for whom my coming boded evil. Doctor, I am 
sinking rapidly. Give me brandy.” 

“ In God’s name. Doctor Colburne, if you love me, 
help him,” said Melton, with a face as pale as the dying 
man’s. 

“Be calm, Henry,” was the quiet response. In a few 
minutes the dying man revived a little and went on : 

“You know Nora Lavine, I believe she was your 
friend ; was she not, Melton ? ” 

“Eldred Randal, in heaven’s name, I pray and 
beseech you go on with your story.” 

“ I met her,” continued the speaker, “ and was struck 


256 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


with her beauty ; and with my prompter — the devil — 
at my back, I determined to add another to my list of 
victims.” 

“Villain,” involuntarily muttered Henry Melton 
between his set teeth. The other paid no heed to the 
interruption, but continued : 

“ Chance gave me a most favorable introduction. 
You have not forgotten the rescue at the river, have 
you?” 

“ No, I have not forgotten it. Are you MacKenzie ? ” 

“ That is the name you know me by. Yes, Melton, 
I — Eldred Randal, was the MacKenzie who came like 
a serpent in your midst to poison the cup your young 
hearts were quaffing. I, Eldred Randal, was the Mac- 
Kenzie who saved Nora Lavine from a watery grave, 
in order that I might consign her to a living tomb ; a 
tomb more dark, by far, than any she could have found 
beneath the waters that would have engulfed her. I 
had gained her gratitude and her mother’s by my 
timely assistance, and they made me a welcome visitor 
at their happy home. To win her friendship and confi- 
dence was my first step. Under the peculiar circum- 
stances it was no difficult task. By plausible lies I 
deceived her, and I worked upon her sympathies by a 
well -concocted story about a common martyrdom of 
her father and my brother. She can tell you all this. 
You now know what part my brother took in the 
struggle in which her father lost his life. She had 
no means of knowing better then, and with childlike 
faith she accepted my words as truth, and gave me her 
full confidence and sympathy. Ah, Melton, she was 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


257 


standing on slippery ground just then, and had not 
Heaven shielded her, would have glided into the gulf ; 
not the gulf probably that awaits me now with its 
burning lava, but the gulf of desperate sin and shame 
which so generally finds outlet into this other. 

“ About this time, young Evarts, her lover, had occa- 
sion to be absent from home for a week or two. I fully 
intended to accomplish her ruin in his absence, so that 
when he returned he would have a withered rose for 
his bosom. But as I said, angels kept their ceaseless 
vigils o’er her. As soon as Evarts left, Nora declined 
to see me any more. Nothing daunted, I followed my 
intended prey, and was made the more determined on 
the accomplishment of my purpose. By flattery, 
promises and money I managed to enlist in my cause 
the services of the maid-servant Bessie. From her I 
learned that Evarts, suspecting my character and 
designs, had exacted a solemn promise of his betrothed, 
on his departure, that she would not see me during his 
absence. As far as she was able to comply, she was 
faithful to her promise. For several days I haunted 
the neighborhood. I vainly called at the cottage. I 
hovered like a bird of prey about the places where she 
had been accustomed to stroll. She did not appear. 
In vain I sought her. I saw that she was determined 
to keep inviolate her promise to her lover. I directed 
Bessie to tell her that I had gone away. The ruse 
worked well. Next morning my abettor came and 
gave me the intelligence that her mistress had gone out 
for a walk, and designated the place I would be likely 
to find her. I lost no time, and soon startled her with 
16 


258 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


my presence. When her surprise and excitement some- 
what abated she became indignant, and demanded the 
reasons for my intrusion. I fell upon my knees before 
her, and poured out a long pathetic story. It would 
have moved a much colder heart than hers. From her 
it drew tears of pity and sympathy. As she started to 
return to her home it was simply impossible for her to 
refuse my escort. She was evidently very unhappy. 
As I bade her adieu at the cottage gate, I asked per- 
mission to call to see her. The request embarrassed 
her deepily. She hesitated. I appealed to her sympa- 
thies. She tremblingly replied that I might call the 
next morning. After I left her I thought on the situa- 
tion. I understood how delicately sensitive she was to 
right and wrong. I knew she was miserable in having 
violated her promise to her lover. I knew that in her 
confused and unhappy state of mind she would over- 
look the fact that the broken promise was no fault of 
hers, and would imagine she had done very wickedly. 
This was what I desired. I wanted her to be crushed 
with a sense of secret shame. On the morrow that 
shame would fasten itself upon her, for I should see 
her by her own permission, and the violation of her 
promise would then be voluntary. There was only one 
thing I feared. It was that she would disclose the 
situation to her mother, and seek her counsel. Yet I 
was quite sanguine that shame would influence her to 
keep her secret. If she would only do this my task 
would be an easy one. If she would only see me on 
the coming morrow, I knew what would follow. The 
next step would be a clandestine meeting. She would 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


259 


be overwhelmed with shame, and made an unresisting 
victim. She would have had no more power to repel 
me then than a helpless infant would have to resist 
successfully the physical strength of a giant. # 

“ I was doomed to an unexpected check. That even- 
ing the maid-servant came to my rooms and told me a 
long conversation which had taken place between the 
mother and daughter. Nora had revealed all, and 
sought her mother’s advice. The mother’s suspicions 
were aroused. She advised her daughter to write me a 
note withdrawing the privilege she had given me of 
calling, and denying me, in positive terms, her presence 
for all future time. She also advised the writing of a 
letter to Horace Evarts, giving him a detailed account 
of the whole affair. Immediately she wrote the letters 
which were given to Bessie to carry to the post office. 

The girl brought them to me instead. Both of them 
are there now in my trunk in the bottom right hand cor- 
ner^ folded in a huff-colored envelope which has on its 
face three cross marks. 

“ With those two letters is another. It was written 
by Evarts to his betrothed, and was intercepted on the 
same occasion, and through the same means that her 
letter to him was. Neither party has ever seen the 
other’s letter. From his, I learned that he would be 
at home the next Sunday at a certain hour ; that he 
would seek her first at the church where she was accus- 
tomed to attend, and if there he found her not he 
would go immediately to her home. Give me more 
brandy. Doctor, my strength is almost gone.” 

Doctor Colburne administered the cordial, and made 


260 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


him pause a minute. The dying man regained his 
breath and continued : 

“ I knew something of Evarts’ impulsive nature. I 
must drive him into a state of frenzy and despair. He 
must be made to believe that Nora was faithless — aye, 
guilty of crime. He must be driven away from the 
scene. I had little trouble in imagining her misery and 
despair if this could be done. She would go with me 
to any part of the earth so that she was but leaving a 
home where every one believed her dishonored. I laid 
my plans accordingly. Nora must not go to church. 
She always went ; her failure to go on this particular 
occasion would be a strong link in the chain of evidence 
against her. I procured a drug which taken over-night 
would produce nervous headache in the morning. I 
directed Bessie to put it in a cup of tea or coffee for 
her mistress. I knew well the medicine would have 
the desired effect. After the mother went out to 
church, I was to hide myself in the shrubbery close to 
the cottage. Bessie was to occupy a position at a 
window which commanded the entire walk from the 
church to the cottage. She was to w^atch for the 
approach of Evarts, and signify the same to me by 
waving a white handkerchief. Everything worked well. 
The mother went to church alone, Bessie occupied her 
position at the window, I, mine in the shrubbery. I 
saw the white signal from the window. I emerged from 
my hiding place, and hurried to the cottage. I — 
paused — not — at — the door. More brandy, Doctor — 
demons of darkness ! away — .” 

The physician applied the stimulant, and though it 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


261 


appeared as if the end had almost come, the dying man 
went on : 

‘‘ Of course, Nora was utterly confounded and terri- 
fied at my presence. She would not listen to me one 
moment. Excitedly but peremptorily she ordered me 
to leave her presence. Her excitement got beyond 
all control. She tried to call for assistance to force me 
away from her sight. She tried to fly past me. I 
placed myself between her and the door, and caught 
her in my arms. Her excitement had reached its cli- 
max. She fainted on my bosom. At this juncture I 
heard the sound of approaching footsteps ; in — a — 
moment more — Evarts approached. Tell him what I’ve 
told you, Melton. He knows all the rest. Don’t ask — 
Nora — Lavine — to for — give me, Melton, because she 
— cannot do it. Tell Horace — Evarts — will you — 
tell — him — Melton, what I ’ve said ? ” 

“ Yes, yes ! Kan dal, I will tell him all. Let me ask 
you one question and heaven help you to answer it 
rightly. How do you explain the mystery connected 
with the note which you handed to Horace Evarts, 
when he threatened you with death on his entrance to 
the scene you last described ?” 

“ The note, ah yes — the note — that — note — was 
not for — me. It was — the closing — lines of — her — 
let — ter — to him. The closing lines — of her letter — 
to Horace Evarts — the intercepted letter. You — 
know there in — my trunk — four pages closely — 
written — finished on that slip, as a postscript. I took 
out — the letter — she wrote — me — and — substituted 
that — slip.” 


262 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


“ Then Nora Lavine is guiltless?” 

“ As guiltless — and as — pure, so far as my know- 
ledge goes, as — the angels of heaven. I, Eldred Ran- 
dal, heretofore known to you as MacKenzie — swear it 
on my dying bed — in the presence of God.” 

“I felt it; I knew it,” exclaimed Melton, “and I thank 
God that the proof of her innocence is established. 
Eldred Randal, you suffer deservedly, but may heaven 
have mercy on you for this last act of your life.” 

“ Amen,” responded Dr. Colburne. 

“ Too late,” muttered the dying man. “ Too late,” 
he almost shrieked. “Doctor, Doctor, save me from 
them. Away, ye spirits of the damned ! Irene — Es — 
telle Adora — thou art — avenged.” 

Eldred Randal sank back upon the pillow, and the 
glassy eyes were fixed in — death. He had not signed 
the confession, but it had been made before a civil 
officer, in the presence of lawyer and physician^ and thus 
was a legal instrument. 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


263 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

A SUMMONS HOME. 

W HEN events crowd themselves in rapid succes- 
sion upon each other, it is sometimes difficult 
for the writer to record them in their proper order. 

Henry Melton had not left the bedside of the dead 
MacKenzie a sufficient length of time to enable him to 
compose his mind, and arrange his plans of actions, 
when a letter was handed to him which was destined 
to change the whole tenor of his life. 

It was postmarked at his own native village, but the 
handwriting in the superscription wa^ unknown to him. 
He hastily opened it and read the following : 


“ Sept. — , 1875. 

My Dear Sir: — I write to you by your father’s 
directions. He is now prostrated on a bed of illness, 
and desires your immediate attendance. His health 
for many weeks has been gradually declining, but none 
of his friends were seriously apprehensive of danger 
until about twelve hours ago, when he was stricken 
down with paralysis. This painful intelligence will nat- 
urally cause you intense anxiety and uneasiness, but I 
beg you to restrain your feelings, and let us hope for 
his early restoration. 

“ There is one fact connected with his illness that I 
will mention here, and I doubt not that it will afford 


264 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


you some consolation and sincere gratification. It is 
this : Ever since this decline in your father’s health 
began, a gradual change has been going on in his relig- 
ious views and feelings, until at last he has been entirely 
transformed into a new being, and resolved on practis- 
ing as well as professing the Christian faith. He desires 
me to state this to you, and to express the hope that 
you will blot from your memory all the sufferings 
which his errors of judgment have caused you to 
undergo. He now clearly sees the mistakes which he 
committed; and knowing the warm dutiful affection 
you have ever entertained for him, is desirous of 
making every practicable amends. 

“ Without any solicitations from me, I know that 
you will hasten to him with all dispatch ; for I do not 
deem it out of place for me, as his medical attendant 
and adviser, to state that your speedy return, in my 
opinion, will add greatly to his chances of recovery, 
which otherwise would be exceedingly doubtful. 

“ With much respect, 

“ Yours truly, 

“ Richard Llewellyn, M. D.” 

“ P. S. — I would state for your pleasure that your 
old friend, Horace Evarts is still at home. He returned, 
as I suppose you already know, some month or six 
weeks ago, suffering from a terrible wound which he 
had received in one of the battles between the Carlist 
forces and the regular troops in Spain. He has now 
almost entirely recovered ; in fact, I think him quite as 
well as ever, except that he is still somewhat thin, and 
suffering frona a heavy depression of spirits — the 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


265 


result of the bitter disappointment he experienced a 
year ago in his unfortunate love affair, the memory of 
which still clings to him with a cruel tenacity, poison- 
ing almost every spring of hope and happiness. Mr. 
and Miss Evarts are generally well, though the latter 
has been very much depressed of late. “ E. L.” 

If Henry in his confused and excited state of mind, 
consequent upon witnessing the horrible death-bed scene 
which he had but a few hours left, had been at a loss 
what course of action to pursue, this letter would have 
decided him instantly. In a few hours, he had bade a 
fond and tearful adieu to the dear friends whose loving 
kindness would be a holy remembrance to him as long 
as his life might last, and by morning’s dawn was out 
on the boundless ocean again, gazing o'er the broad 
expanse of waters from the deck of the very same 
vessel which bore him once a hopeless and heart-broken 
exile. It was Night then; night to the material world ; 
night to his life. Darkness was upon the waters, and 
darkness upon the heart of him whose eyes were then 
turned upon them. 

It was Morning now. Morning upon the waters ; and 
in the glad golden light of the rising sun they sprayed, 
and danced, and sparkled. Might not the heart’s morn- 
ing too be about to break ? Henry fixed his eyes 
steadily upon the horizon of the future, and caught 
a glimmer of the first gray dawn. God speed him on 
his mission of mercy and love. God make the 
morning’s dawn early and bright. 


266 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

EECALLED AND EECONCILED. 

I NSTANCES are rare in which a man who has care- 
lessly lived nearly three score years, who has been 
governed in his actions by some ungodly passion from 
early manhood to hoary age ; who, having scarcely a 
thought of his soul’s immortal welfare, makes the 
honors and pleasures of this world his life’s study and 
pursuit; and pride, and wealth, and ambition his only 
gods — we say it is a rare instance in which a man of 
this character after walking up the hill-side of life, 
gathering only the fair flowers and fruits by the way, 
and then going on down the declivity until he had 
almost reached the valley beyond, pauses in his 
course, sees the error of his way and looks to find the 
narrow path that diverges from the easier and broader 
road. 

Yet, such was the case with Edwin Melton. After 
having following for nearly half a century his ignis 
fatuus — Ambition ; when his trembling form was tot- 
tering on the brink. Providence worked mysteriously 
for him. Had his worldly wishes been all fulfilled, 
had his son Plenry in accordance with his father’s 
desire, married Ellen Glennmore, the old man, whose 
heart was now at peace with God and man, would in 
all probability never have awakened to a sense of his 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


267 


spiritual danger, until it was too late to hope for succor. 
As it was, the cherished dreams of his life were all 
broken at a blow; his pride was buried in deep 
humiliation ; a new light broke in upon his soul, a light 
that heralded the coming of a brighter and a happier 
day. He had been thoroughly transformed. 

From the worldly-minded man who had ever wor- 
shiped at the shrine of earthly honors, who had 
scarcely ever looked beyond the tomb, or thought of 
future rewards and punishments, he had been changed 
to the meek and lowly Christian, resigned to God’s will, 
and ready for His call. 

* * * * * 

Two days had barely passed since we left young 
Melton on board the steamer homeward bound. 

It was evening, and the hour early twilight when he 
ended his journey, and found himself once more at 
Melton Mansion. We will not attempt to depict his 
emotions as once again he crossed the threshold of that 
home which he had supposed he would never more 
behold. He did not pause, however, to indulge his 
feelings, but hurried on ; and meeting no one in the 
passage or hall, went immediately ' to his father’s bed- 
chamber, and w’ithout hesitation entered unannounced. 
He moved softly to the bedside, and gently taking his 
father’s hand pressed it to his lips. The old man 
started from a light slumber in which he had fallen, 
and after looking about somewhat confusedly, at the 
objects grown indistinct in the thickening twilight, 
said; 


268 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


“Ah, Yes! Doctor Llewellyn. I see now. It is 
nearly night. Well Doctor, I am decidedly better now. 
I have had a sweet sleep, and the fairest visions that 
ever I knew. Do you think that Henry will come 
to-night? ” 

The son rose from the side of the bed where he had 
been kneeling, and as a warm tear-drop fell upon the 
old man’s brow, bent over him, and with a voice 
trembling with emotion, said : 

“ I am here, dear father.” 

“ Is it you, my boy, or do I still dream ? ” 

“ It is I, your son, come at your bidding, to watch 
over, to love you, and to honor you.” 

The old father’s voice was choked with emotion, and 
his eyes were filled with tears, as he said: 

“ Come closer, Henry. There ; now, may the merci- 
ful God of Heaven bless you, my son, for evermore.” 

Henry could make no reply. After a short silence, 
the old man gained some command over his feelings, 
and again spoke : 

“ My son, can you forgive all the past errors that 
caused you so much suffering ? ” 

“ Father, they are already forgiven.” 

• “ Forget the wrong I committed against the holy love 
you bore to — to — another ? ” 

“Yes, father, forget all but the fond and dutiful 
affection I cherish for you. Whatever you have done 
I know was done with the desire of promoting my 
happiness, and if you erred in the manner of doing 
this, the error was of the judgment and not of the 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


269 


heart. Compose your feelings, my dear father, and be 
assured of my fondest and most dutiful affection.” 

Neither spoke for a minute. The father was the first 
to break the silence. 

“Henry, do you still love Jeannette Evarts?” 

“ Father ! ” 

“ I understand, my son. Go, seek her, Henry.” 

“ And leave you so soon ? ” 

“I am better now, my son, and my heart needs only 
one thing more to make its joy complete.” 

“ Can my actions add that other? ” 

“I trust so. Go, Henry. Seek Jeannette. Tell her 
that you came from me to crave her forgiveness for the 
pangs of bitter sorrow I have caused her. Beseech her 
in mercy’s name to forget them, and tell her that I 
want her love. Ask her, Henry, to be my little daugh- 
ter, to link her destiny with yours, and then my path 
to the tomb will be a pleasant way.” 

^ ^ * 

The last time we saw Jeannette was on the occasion 
of the ride which terminated so unhappily for them all. 
We saw her then when her spirits were in the height of 
pleasurable excitement; saw her when those spirits 
were rudely and cruelly shocked, and her mind filled 
Avith grief and terror by an incident which nearly 
threatened the life of an only brother whom she loved 
Avith excessive fondness. 

After this, her feelings had never reacted, though her 
brother experienced no constitutional injury from the 
hemorrhage, and rapidly recovered his strength and 


270 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


health, and though assured by Dr. Llewellyn that the 
hemorrhage proved a decided benefit, since it relieved 
a slight congestion that had take place about the lung, 
the shock that Jeannette had sustained had been so 
severe that she was unable to recover any degree of 
cheerfulness, and lived constantly in dread of a repeti- 
tion of the attack. 

There were other causes, too, operating on her mind 
which were well calculated to still further depress her. 
She had seen the strength of the passion which her 
brother had for Nora, and felt convinced it would never 
alter or abate. This passion she now regarded as utterly 
hopeless, and saw nothing in it but a life-time of sorrow 
and disappointment. She believed fully and firmly in 
Nora’s absolute purity and innocence, but had almost 
given up all hope that the proof of that innocence 
would ever be established. 

There was another — must we say a still greater — 
cause of trouble to her mind. Until recently, she had 
fondly hoped that Henry Melton would soon return to 
his home, and, after his long absence, be able to bear 
with firmness and fortitude his great disappointment, 
and would in the coming time so far forget the love he 
had cherished for her as to be justified in making 
another his wife, (That “ another ” could not now be 
Ellen Glennmore, for that light-hearted young lady 
had recently married a New York banker, and was 
very happy in her splendor.) From the time Henry 
had left home, Jeannette had heard nothing from him. 
She did not imagine any person in the village knew of 


MTKTLE LAWN. 271 

his whereabouts; much less did she suppose that his 
father had the remotest idea as to where he was. 

She heard from Melton Mansion but seldom of late ; 
and though she knew of the declining health of its 
owner, did not fully know what the chief cause had 
been, and supposed him still proudly inflexible, not 
being aware of the spiritual change that had taken 
place in him. 

From what she had learned within the past few days, 
she imagined his dissolution was near at hand, and, 
thinking him still the worldly man he had ever been, 
she contemplated with grief and horror the prospect 
which she feared lay before him beyond the grave. To 
die alone as he was — separated from the dearest tie he 
had on earth, his son — and that son driven as it were 
from his home, chiefly if not wholly by his mistakes, 
was cause for the deepest sadness. To die thus 
unprepared was terrible. Jeannette, loving Henry as 
she assuredly did with all the purity and strength of 
her soul, and feeling that that love was worse than 
hopeless, concealed in her bleeding heart her own 
cruelly blighted love, and suffered almost as much for 
others as she did for herself. 

The September evening was mild and pleasant. 
Jeannette was seated alone at one of the vine-latticed 
ends of the portico that extended along the front of the 
mansion at Myrtle Lawn. The shades of twilight had 
deepened almost into darkness, and the last gray lines 
of the departed day were fast fading from the western 
horizon. The full silvery moon was up in the east and 


272 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


was shedding her pale lustre over the shrubbery on the 
lawn and through the nearly leafless branches of the 
tall old trees. Soon, too, the blue expanse was filled 
with myriads of the lesser lights, and Jeannette 
watched their merry twinkling. Her heart was full of 
sadness. Upon her mind had crowded the blissful 
memories of other days, and her pure, tender heart 
beat for the moment with the olden joy. Then — the 
present. Its gloomy realities loomed up before her, 
and Jeannette bowed her head with the weight of its 
sorrows. 

For half an hour she sat thus, with her poor heart 
heavy with its woes; and then, there by the wood- 
bine, in the moonlight’s broken rays, she fell upon her 
knees, and, raising her clasped hands and tearful eyes 
towards the glowing heavens, sent up her petition. 
The voice was low, sweet and touching, and it came 
from the depths of a soul that was white and pure. 

“ Oh, God, bring him back. In thy mercy and love 
bring him back. Reconcile the father and the son, and 
bless them both in time and in eternity.” 

If loveliness in human form can possibly approxi- 
mate that superlative degree of divine beauty and 
excellence with which our imaginations clothe the 
angels of heaven, the ultimum of that approximation 
was attained by Jeannette as she knelt there alone in 
the calm, beautiful night, and uttered her simple 
praj^er. 

It was no one particular feature in the picture that 
made it divine. It was the combined effect of holiness, 
beauty, attitude, circumstance, sensation. 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


273 


There, in the calm and silent night-time, with the 
mellow moonlight’s broken rays falling through the 
latticed woodbine upon her pale, fair face, upturned 
in holy supplication to heaven ; with no vestige of 
worldly passion or feeling traced thereon ; with her 
trembling little hands clasped above her, and her half- 
closed eyes suffused in tears ; her soul speaking in every 
feature ; and while no voice or sound broke in upon the 
sacred stillness of the scene, from the depths of that 
pure soul was issuing a prayer — for — whom? 

For him, who, to gratify a selfish wish, had coolly, 
deliberately and dispassionately blighted the holiest, 
the fondest and the dearest earthly hopes that gentle 
woman knows. For him who had poisoned the very 
springs of happiness and turned the current of her 
young heart into bitterness and gall. Is there not 
something else in the human heart besides selfishness 
after all? 

Henry Melton thought so as he stood concealed 
behind the woodbine and gazed in breathless admira- 
tion upon this heavenly picture. Love her? There 
were no words to express the absolute intensity of his 
passion. 

Apart from the heart’s love, Henry cherished for 
Jeannette a spiritual admiration — a pure and intensely 
sacred love which had its origin in the soul. A love 
which made him look up to her, and caused him 
to associate her in his mind with the very angels of 
light. He felt as he gazed upon her in the beautiful 
attitude of supplication, and heard her earnest prayer 
17 


274 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


of meditation, that he might bow the knee to her in 
the same spirit that moved her soul in her prayer to 
heaven. 

Jeannette arose from her kneeling posture and wiped 
away the tears with which her fair cheeks had been 
suffused. Again she looked out towards the silvery 
moon and the glowing heavens ; and as she watched the 
twinkling stars she thought they seemed to be smiling 
upon her, and her eyes caught some of their tender 
light, and her face was radiant — aye, radiant with 
divine beauty and love as she softly murmured : “ God 
is good, and He will answer my prayers.” 

There was a slight, rustling noise in the dried leaves 
of the woodbine, and a low voice at her side pro- 
nounced : 

“ Even before they found utterance in words they 
were answered in part, Jeannette. He has brought 
him back ; the father and the son are reconciled ; it is 
with you by His aid to bless them both in time and in 
eternity.” 

Jeannette was speechless. Her first impulse was to 
rush into her lover’s arms, but with wonderful self- 
control she restrained her feelings, and sat tremblingly 
awaiting his explanation.^ 

“ You do not comprehend. I have just come from 
the bedside of my dear father, and I am commissioned 
by him to crave your forgiveness for the bitter pangs 
he has caused you. He is now your Christian brother, 
Jeannette; and he begs you in the name of your 
common faith to forget the past and learn to love him. 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


275 


I come from him to urge you to be his daughter — and 
my blessed little angel wife. Jeannette, oh, Jeannette, 
repay me now with one token of your love for these 
long months of unspeakable anguish and pain.” 

With a little cry of joy, Jeannette Evarts threw 
herself into her lover’s arms. 

Reader, let us drop the curtain. 

Horace Evarts, alone in his room, was startled by the 
abrupt and unexpected entrance of Henry. The 
friends had scarcely embraced each other, when the 
latter, in a tone of the most joyful excitement, ex- 
claimed : 

“ Horace, my dearest friend, I am the very happiest 
man this hour in all the wide world. Rejoice with me, 
for I tell you again that I am the very happiest man 
to-day in all the universe.” 

“ To-night, you mean, Melton.” 

“ No, Horace, to-day. For it is day. The brightest, 
the loveliest, the most glorious day that ever dawned 
on my life. My soul’s morning, Horace.” 

“ What is the matter with you ? Are you dream- 
ing?” 

“ Dreaming ? If this is dreaming, may I never 
awake.” 

“ Well then, tell me.” 

“ I can not tell you. I can’t talk. I’m so happy.” 

“Has Jeannette anything to do with your feelings?” 

“ Jeannette — Jeannette ? That ’s too good. Why, 
my boy, she has everything to do with it. No, not 


276 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


everything. My father has much to do with it ; you 
have much to do with it ; everybody has something to 
do with it, and, Horace, we are all so happy.” 

“ By the powers, if you don’t explain yourself, 
Melton, I will think you have gone crazy.” 

“ Listen then, while I tell you why I am the happiest 
man in the world. Jeannette and I are going to be 
married — married soon, my boy; and you are going to 
be married soon — married to Nora Lavine — ” 

“ Don’t mock me, Melton. In God’s name, do not 
trifle with me or — ” 

“ I do not trifle with you, Horace. Listen to me. I 
have seen MacKenzie.” 

“ The utterly accursed villain! What have I to do 
with him ? ” 

“Nothing, Horace; he is dead now — ” 

“And in perdition, it is to be hoped.” 

“ Two days ago I bent over his dying form.” 

“ I thank you for the act, and yet I am sorry that 
my hand did not spare yours the deed.” 

“You are mistaken, Horace. I did not slay him; 
but one did whose sister he had ruined — ” 

“ The infernal wretch I he met his reward at last.” 

“ Calm yourself, my dear friend. I am going to tell 
you news that will make your life haj)py for all time.” 

“ No news can affect me now, Melton, but go on.” 

“ MacKenzie, on his death-bed, made a revelation.” 

“ Go on.” 

“ This deposition of the dying man, established 
beyond all doubt the purity and innocence of Nora 
Lavine. My dear friend, what is the matter ? ” 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


277 


“ Melton, if you trifle with me, I ’ll curse you to the 
day of my death.” 

“ Horace, my brother, do you not know me ? Could I 
trifle with you on this subject? Here,” taking from his 
pocket a folded manuscript, “ is the incontestable evi- 
dence of the fact that Nora Lavine has been made the 
innocent victim of cruel circumstances — that she is as 
pure as an angel, and that she was always true to you. 
Take it, Horace, and thank God.” 


278 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

CLOSE OF THE LIFE STORY. 

W ITH the exception of Jeannette Evarts and a 
few other friends, who clung to Nora La vine 
with more than sisters’ love, Elmwood had few visitors, 
and the occupants seldom went anywhere. 

People, ^however, had talked more than usual of late, 
about Nora, and her social status was less precarious 
and anomalous. Some sour cynics there were, it is 
true, who turned their eyes away at her approach, and 
deafened their ears at the sound of her name ; but very 
many more of dhe best people of the village said that 
she had been cruelly slandered; said that the light 
that shone in her face could emanate from none but 
the purest heart, and that she was living under a cloud, 
that was false as it was black. 

The brawny blacksmith of honest heart, whose little 
sick child had received kind ministrations from her 
hands, walked slowly as he passed along, and looked 
over the white palings where Nora tended her flowers 
and hummed a song; and he looked as long as he 
could, and when he was out of sight, quickened his 
gait suddenly, and clenched his strong, rough hands, 
and we heard the emphatic mutter : “ A vile lie to the 
base coward who ever speaks evil of her.” 

The poor, sick widow woman, with the helpless 
little infant, watched her as she came with, her basket 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


279 


of fruits and cake and wine ; and thought she had the 
softest tread, and the kindest look, and the gentlest 
manner, and that her face was the most beautiful that 
she had ever seen, and that it looked like the face of an 
angel. So it might have done; for Nora Lavine was 
more beautiful than ever, and her trials had made her 
heroic. But Nora saw no way out of the shadow, 
though she felt that God does all things well, and on 
this faith she calmly rested. 

So the days went on. 

A bright light burned in the pretty parlor at Elm^ 
wood, and Nora sat on a sofa, and she was alone. 

On her lap lay an open book. It was Milton’s 
“Paradise Regained.” One soft, white, little hand 
rested between the open pages, while the other, witl^ 
the elbow on the arm of the sofa, supported her head, 
Her long eyelashes almost touched her cheek, for her 
eyes were half closed, and they looked straight before 
her to the bright figures on the carpet, which seemed 
to dance in the cheery lamp-light. Nora was more 
beautiful than ever. Her faith had made her beauty 
sublime. 

Silently the mother entered, and quietly walked to 
where her daughter sat, and kissed her. Then she 
took a letter from her pocket and sat down. They 
read it together. It was the same hour in which the 
events of our last chapter were transpiring. The letter 
was from a dearly loved one, in a far distant land, and 
it was written at — 


280 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


City Guanaxuato, Republic of Mexico. 

“My Beloved Sister and Niece: — After your 
unusually long silence, during which my anxious love 
imagined all manner of evil, your affectionate favoi 

of ult. came at last to my relief. From your 

letter I infer that you did not receive the preceding 
communication, in which I told you, in detail, of 
certain negotiations which were in progress for. a 
compromise of the suit which had been instituted in 
your name and my own against the Government of 
Mexico for certain moneys or estates, of which our 
family was dispossessed, on the occasion of the sad, but 
heroic death of my noble father, and the final collapse 
of the cause which he and other patriotic Mexican 
leaders espoused against the tyranny of the then 
existing Government. The forms and systems which 
there prevailed have, as you knoAV, undergone material 
modification and changes; and though our beautiful 
land has occasionally been convulsed by the throes of 
internecine strife, we have a good strong Government 
now, and the principles which are dominant are identi- 
cally those for which my honored and lamented father 
labored and fought to establish. 

“ Our authorities, immediately after a substantial 
and authentic representation of all the facts in the 
case, manifested a cheerful readiness to make just and 
honorable indemnity ; and they have actually paid into 
my hands the sum of seventy thousand dollars as a 
complete and final settlement of the whole matter. 
Although our property, which was seized and confis- 
cated, was worth five times the amount restored, I 


MYETLE LAWN. 


281 


think you will agree with me that we have done well 
to recover, after a lapse of so long a time, such a large 
sum as that stated. 

“ One half of this amount you know belongs to you^ 
and it is now in my hands, subject to your orders. If 
you wish me to invest it for you, I will do so to the 
best of my judgment; but I would suggest that it 
would be probably better to have the funds transferred 
to several strong banking houses of New York and 
Philadelphia — at least for the present. It is my 
impression that safer securities and better investments 
can be found in the States where you are than here; 
and if, as you say, you intend to make your present 
home a life one, it would be wiser and more convenient 
for you to have your money within ready reach. 

“In some former letters, we have discussed the feasi- 
bility of a six months’ visit from you, and I flatter 
myself that my arguments quite convinced you that 
such a plan was not only practicable, but that its 
execution would afford you much benefit and pleasure. 

“We have here the finest climate, the best water, 
and some of the grandest scenery on the earth. My 
means — independent of that lately gained — are ample ; 
my home commodious. . I am fond of society, and our 
society just here is as good as any that the Republic 
affords. Every thing that can add to your happiness 
shall be brought to bear, and any expense or pains that 
I may incur will be so much happiness to me; for 
above all that I have to love in this world, you two 
are naturally and of course the dearest. 

“ In conclusion, I would ask you to bear in mind the 


282 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


fact that I am always delighted to hear from you, and 
I shall expect letters regularly and often. 

With renewed assurances of my tenderest regards, 
I am sincerely, 

“Eugene Lavine.” 

The mother and the daughter looked at each other, 
and saw dimly, for each was looking through a mist. 
Then they talked happily over the letter; and the 
mother said she believed “that God would make all 
things even, and that it would not be long before He 
would drive the darker cloud away.” Then without a 
moment’s warning, they were astonished by an appa- 
rition, and electrified with the words and the action — 

“ Behold me, Nora Lavine, in an agony of remorse, 
prostrate at your feet! Can you forgive me, or shall I 
die?” 

The bewildered maiden rose from her seat, and her 
face was whiter than spotless marble, and a bright, but 
almost meaningless light shone in her lustrous eyes, as 
she stood looking down into the burning eyes that were 
gazing up into hers; and she trembled as a little 
withered leaf would quiver when snows fall and winter 
breezes blow. 

“ Forgive him ! Mother, did he forgive ? ” 

“Yes, forgive me! Forgive my cruel abandon- 
ment. Forgive my cowardly desertion, in the first 
hour of her need and her sorrow, the noble woman 
whom I had sworn to love through good and ill — the 
only woman I had ever loved — the truest, and the 
purest, and the best woman that Heaven’s sunlight 
ever fell upon.” 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


283 


Nora looked about amazed, and then sat down on 
the carpet at her mother’s feet ; and laying her little 
head on her mother’s lap, raised her eyes pleadingly to 
hers. 

“ What is this, dear mother? Am I ill ? Wake me, 
mother, if I dream.” 

Mrs. Lavine looked to where Horace Evarts still 
knelt ; looked into eyes that were almost wild with an 
anguish of suspense ; looked to the trembling hand that 
clasped a roll of crumpled pages, and with a voice 
whose tone she could not control, tremulously said : 

“ Speak, Horace Evarts. In pity, if aught you know, 
speak.” 

He stood erect, and advancing a step, said with an 
intensity of feeling that gave his voice a deep, hollow 
tone : 

“ If aught I know ? I know that I have been insane. 
I know what curse the hour I once doubted. I know 
that Nora is all that is pure and noble and good. I 
know that MacKenzie is dead, and that I have here in 
my hand his dying deposition — a legal declaration 
which fully establishes that which all but cowards 
might have known before. I know that if Nora can 
forgive the infidelity that made her life wretched, the 
weak faith that was once so easily shaken, that faith will 
never waver again. I know that this love I have for her 
has never abated — that it will never die. I know that 
if she can not forgive me, the sun that will bring the 
morrow’s dawn will shine on the grave of a life forever 
set in gloom. Behold my hands stretched out for you ! 
Nora Lavine, my heart is dying for you ! ” 


284 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


The amazed look was gone; and Nora arose from 
her kneeling posture at her mother’s feet, and with 
perfect calmness and without a word or a tear, slowly 
walked to where her lover stood ; and while her face 
was shining with a light that had never been seen there 
before, gently placed her arms around her lover’s neck, 
and laid her little head with its tangled tresses upon 
his shoulder. Then we heard these words, and they 
came from the heart’s depths : 

“ For our deliverance, and for Thy loving kindness, 
Heavenly Father, help us to love Thee, and to worship 
Thy holy name forever.” Then was a great gush of 
tears. The happy heart could hold no more. 

One little minute, in which the sorrows of many 
months were lost forever! We turned our eyes away, 
and we could hardly see the bright figures on the 
carpet, as we looked downwards. We walked to the 
window, and saw a million twinkling stars in a sky 
where there was no speck of cloud. We saw a great 
full moon shining straight down upon the earth, silver- 
ing the shrubbery and the house-tops, and making a 
thousand diamonds of the glittering pebbles in the 
gravel walk. Our ears caught the sound of distant 
music as it floated on the breeze. We turned our eyes 
to happy faces and knew that happy hearts needed no 
music from without. Just then the cheery voice of a 
brave watchman was heard, as it rang out on the night 
air — “ One o’clock, and all ’s well ! ” And we turned 
our eyes to happy faces, and knew that happy hearts 
were swelling with the glorious echo — “ First hour of 
the morning^ and all is well.” 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


285 


Then Nora unclasped her arms from around her 
lover’s neck, and took one of his hands in hers, and 
both moved to where the mother stood, and knelt there 
together at her feet. And a voice which might have 
been an augel’s voice, whispered: 

“ Bless us, mother.” 

Then, as a holy light shone in the mother’s eye, she 
placed a hand on each head; and we saw her look 
upward ; and saw the holy light shining through a film 
of tears, and saw the lips tremble and quiver, but we 
heard no words, for it was the soul that was speaking. 


286 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


CONCLUSION. 


HERE was a life-giving element in the crisp, invig- 



,1 orating air of that bright October morning. The 
clear skies had a deeper hue ; the sun’s rays felt more 
genial. The birds chirped more cheerily in the old 
trees, and they seemed inspired with new life as they 
shook their gaudy feathers, and trilled their lays in the 
sunshine. The parti-colored leaves reflected the golden 
light, as they floated on the undulating air, and there 
seemed to be a music in their rustle, as the gentle 
breezes hurried them along. There was a merrier 
sound in the laborer’s hopeful song, and the business 
man had a more animated air, as he briskly went his 
way. All the village seemed astir with some joyous 
excitement, and the chimes of the church bells had a 
tone more musical and gladder than ever before, for 
they were ringing the anthem of a happy, double 
marriage. 

The feasts and convivialities that followed ! Myrtle 
Lawn was in the zenith of its beauty. A bright ban- 
ner of “ welcome ” floated over the entrance gate ; the 
portico was arched with evergreen, and the inner walls 
were decorated with all the taste and beauty that 
skilled hands and lavish expenditure could give. Its 
parlors and halls were filled with beautiful ladies and gal- 
lant men ; and the softest strains of music, mingled with 


MYKTLE LAWN. 


287 


the perfume of a thousand flowers, thrilled the senses, 
and filled the air. It was such a festival as even that 
luxurious and genial home never saw before ; such an 
array of superb bridal gifts ! One which excited the 
greatest admiration for its exquisite beauty and rich- 
ness was a magnificent cross of diamonds, and a chain 
of rich pearls, the gift of the wealthy owner of Melton 
Mansion, to Horace Evarts’ bride. While a num- 
ber of enthusiastic admirers were commenting on the 
excellence of the gift, and the munificence of the donor, 
he quietly stepped to Jeannette’s side; and, tenderly 
kissing her fair blushing cheek, whispered in her ear, 
“little daughter is not forgotten,” and placed in her 
hand what appeared to be only a little rattling piece of 
worthless paper, but what on opening proved to be a 
bank check, payable to herself at sight, for fifty 
thousand dollars. 

The steamer glided o’er the placid wave. The rays 
of the setting sun fell on the glittering spray about her 
prow and sides, and made a thousand sparkling gems. 

Jeannette, with her little head and its wealth of brown 
tresses resting on her husband’s shoulder, looked out 
over the gilded waters. Her thoughts for a minute had 
been back with the hopes, the disappointments, the 
trials of the past; its final fullness of love and joy. 
Then again she gazed over the w^aters, and looked up 
to the dear noble one on whose arm she leaned. She 
felt that strong, loving arm encircling her. She felt 
in her soul the' tenderness of his eyes. She felt his 
warm kiss upon her brow, and cheek, and lips, and with 


288 


MYRTLE LAWN. 


emotions of unspeakable tenderness, of thrilling hope 
and trembling ecstasy, her thoughts went out into the 
future ; and while her eyes were filled with tears, in 
which there was a world of loving meaning, she turned 
her head, and in his bosom hid her blushing face. 

With their hands clasped in each other’s; with silent 
lips, but with souls full of unutterable things, Horace 
and his bride, stood leaning over the sides of the vessel, 
looking down into the bright, deep waters. Anon, a 
single tear trembled on the downcast lids of the fond 
young bride, and Horace Evarts saw it fall and forever 
lose itself in the waters. 

“A teai\ little darling?” 

“ A pitying thought, dear husband, of the poor, lost 
one. A prayer that God may rest his soul.” 

“Oh, Nora, my darling little wife, such charity as 
this is truly divine. Well, be it so. I can but catch 
some inspiration from your angelic spirit, and in the 
great excess of my love and my happiness, I, too can 
forgive him, and say ‘ God rest his soul.’ But, darling, 
with your prayer let all thought of him forever cease, 
even as all our troubles are, with his name, forever 
gone. With that tear let all memory of him forever 
fade, even as that holy tear is forever lost in this ocean 
of waters.” 


THE END. 


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Robert Graham; the Sequel to “ Linda; or Pilot of Belle Creole,”... 1 
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Love after Marriage, $1 7i 

Eoline; or Magnolia Vale, 1 75 

The Lost Daughter, 1 7') 

The Banished Son, 1 

Helen and Arthur, 1 


73 

75 

75 

73 


BEST COOK BOOKS PUBLISHED. 

JSvery housekeeper should po.^sess at least one of the following Cook Books, as they 
would save the price of it in a week's cooking. 

The Queen of the Kitchen. Containing 1007 Old Maryland 


Family Receipts for Cooking, Cloth, $1 75 

Miss Leslie’s New Cookery Book, Cloth, 1 75 

Mrs. Hale’s New Cook Book, Cloth, 1 75 

Petersons’ New Cook Book, Cloth, 1 75 

Widdifield’s New Cook Book, Cloth, 1 75 

Mrs. Goodfellow’s Cookery as it Should Be, Cloth, 1 75 

The National Cook Book. By a Practical Housewife, Cloth, 1 75 

The Young Wife’s Cook Book Cloth, 1 75 

Miss Leslie’s New Receipts for Cooking, Cloth, 1 75 

Mrs. Hale’s Receipts for the Million, Cloth, 1 75 


The Famil)' Save-All. By author of “National Cook Book,” Cloth, .1 75 
Francatelli’s Modern Cook. With the most approved methods of 
French, English, German, and Italian Cookery. With Sixty-two 
Illustrations. One volume of 600 pages, bound in morocco cloth, 6 00 


JAMES A. MAITLAND’S WORKS. 

Complete in seven large duodecimo volumes, hound in cloth, gilt back, price $1.75 
each ; or $12.25 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 


The Watchman, $l 75 

The Wanderer, I 75 

The Lawyer’s Story 1 75 


Diary of an Old Doctor, $l 75 

Sartaroe, 1 75 

The Three Cousins, 1 75 


The Old Patroon ; or the Great Van Broek Property, 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE’S WORKS. 

Complete in seven large duodecimo volumes, hound in cloth, gilt back, price $1.75 
each : or $12.25 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

■the Sealed Packet, $1 75 Dream Numbers $1 75 

Garstang Grange, 1 75 Beppo, the Conscript, 1 75 

Leonora Casahmi,... I 75 | Gemma, 1 75 | Marietta, 1 73 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

EREDRIKA BREIIER’S WORKS. 

Complete in six large duodecimo volum bound in cloth, gilt back, price $1.75 each ; 
or $10.50 a sit, each set is put up in a neat box. 

Father and Daughter, $1 75 I The Neighbors, $1 75 

The Four Sisters, 1 75 I The Home, 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 
Life in the Old World. In two volumes, cloth, price, 3 50 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Prije, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSOIf & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 3 
MISS ELIZA A. DUPOY’S WOEK^ ~ 

VompUte infoarie.tn large duodecimo volumes, Ixmnd iv morocco cloth, gill back, price 
$1.75 each; or $24.50 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. ' 

A Way to Win a Fortune $1 75 

The Discarded Wife, I 75 

The Clandestine Marriage,, 1 75 

The Hidden Sin, 1 75 

The Dethroned Heiress, 1 75 

The Gipsy’s Warning, 1 75 

A.il For Love, 1 75 


Why j;)id He Marry Her?... 


75 

Who 'Shall be Victor? 


75 

The Mysterious Guest, 


75 

Was He Guilty ? 


75 

The Cancelled Will, 


75 

The Planter’s Daughter, 

... 1 

75 

Michael Rudolph, 

... 1 

75 


EMERSON BENNETT’S WORKS. 

Complete, in seven large duodecimo volumes, hound in cloth, gilt hack, price $i.76 
each ; or $12.25 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

Bride of the Wilderness, $1 75 

Ellen Norbury, I 75 


The Border Rover, $l 75 

Clara Moreland, 1 75 

The Orphan’s Trials, I 75 


Kate Clarendon, I 75 


Viola; or Adventures in the Far South-West, 1 70 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 
The Heiress of Bellefonte, 75 | The Pioneer’s Daughter, 75 

D0ESTICK3’ WORKS. 

Complete in four large duodecimo volumes, hound in cloth, gilt back, price $1.75 
each ; or $7.00 a sec, each set is jyut up in a neat box. 

Doesticks’ Letters, $1 75 I The Elephant Club, $l 75 

Plu-Ri-Bus-Tah, 1 75 1 Witches of New York, 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

GREEN’S WORKS ON GAMBLING. 

Complete in four large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back, price $1,75 
each; or $7.00 a set, eCKch set is put up in a neat box. 

Gambling Exposed, $1 75 1 Reformed Gambler $1 75 

The Gambler’s Life, 1 75 ( Secret Band of Brothers, 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in ])aper cover, at $1.50 each. 

DOW’S PATENT SERMONS. 

Complete in four large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back, price $1.50 
each ; or $6.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

Dow’s Patent Sermon.s, 1st Dow’s Patent Sermons, 3d 


Series, cloth, $1 50 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 2d 
Series, cloth 1 50 


Series, cloth,...'. $1 50 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 4th 
Series, cloth, 1 60 


Above are each in cloth, or each one i.s in paper cover, at $1.00 each. 

WILKIE COLLINS’ BEST WORKS. 

Basil; or. The Cro.ssed Path..$l 50 ( The Dead Secret. 12mo $1 50 

Above are each in one large duodecimo volume, bound in eloth. 


The Dead Secret, 8vo 

75 

The Queen’s Revenge, 

75 

Basil; or, the Crossed Path,. 


Miss or Mrs ? 

50 

Hide and Seek, 

75 

Mad Monkton, 

50 

After Dark, 

75 

Sisrhts a-Poot 

50 

The Stolen Mask, 25 | 

The Yellow Mask,... 25 | Sister Rose,... 

2i 


The above books are each issued in paper cover, in octavo form. 

FRANK FORRESTER’S SPORTING BOOK. 

Frank Forrester’s Sporting Scenes and Characters. By Henry Wil- 
liam Herbert. With Illustrations by Darley. Two vols,, cioth,,.,f4 00 


1^ Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Pries, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


4 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The following books are each issued in one large duodecimo volume, 
bound in cloth, at $1.75 each, or each one is inpaper cover, at $1.50 each. 

Tlie Initials. A Love Story. By Baroness Tautphoeus, $1 75 

Married Beneath Him. By author of Lost Sir Massingberd,” 1 75 

Lost Sir Massingberd. By author of “ Married Beneath Him,” 1 75 

Tne ClylFards of Clyflfe, by author of “Lost Sir Massingberd,” 1 75 

Margaret Maitland. By Mrs. Oliphant, author of “Zaidee,” 1 75 

Family Pride. By author of “ Pique,” “ Family Secrets,” etc 1 75 

Self-Sacrifice. By author of “ Margaret Maitland,” etc 1 75 

The Woman in Black. A Companion to the “Woman in White,” ... 1 75 

A Woman’s Thoughts about Women. By Miss Muloch, 1 75 

Flirtations in Fashionable Life. By Catharine Sinclair, 1 75 

raise Pride; or, Two Ways to Matrimony. A Charming Book, 1 75 

Rose Dougla.s. A Companion to “ Family Pride,” and “ Self Sacrifice,” 1 75 

Family Secrets. A Companion to “Family Pride,” and “Pique,”... 1 75 

The Heiress in the Family. By Mrs. Mackenzie Daniel, 1 75 

Popery Exposed. An Exposition of Popery as it was and is, 1 75 

The Heiress of Sweetwater. A Charming Novel, 1 75 

Woman’s Wrong. By Mrs. Eiloart, author of “St. Bede’s,” 1 75 

The Autobiography of Edward Wortley Mtjntagu, 1 75 

A Lonely Life. By the author of “Wise as a Serpent,” etc 1 75 

The Macdermots of Ballycloran. By Anthony Trollope, 1 75 

The Forsaken Daughter. A Companion to “Linda,” 1 75 

Love and Liberty. A Revolutionary Story. By Alexander Dumas, 1 75 

The Morrisons. By Mrs. Margaret Hosmer, 1 75 

My Son’s Wife. By author of “ Caste,” “ Mr. Arle,” etc 1 75 

The Rich Husband. By author of “ George Geith,” 1 75 

Harem Life in Egypt and Constantinople. By Emmeline Lott, 1 75 

The Rector’s Wife; or, the Valley of a Hundred Fires, 1 75 

Woodburn Grange. A Novel. By William Howitt, 1 75 

Country Quarters. By the Countess of Blessington, 1 75 

'^ut of the Depths. The Story of a “ Woman’s Life,” 1 75 

The Devoted Bride. A Story of the Heart. By St. George Tucker, 1 75 

The Coquette; or, the Life and Letters of Eliza Wharton, 1 75 

The Pride of Life. A Story of the Heart. By Lady Jane Scott,.... 1 75 

The Lost Beauty. By a Noted Lady of the Spanish Court, 1 75 

My Hero. By Mrs. Forrester. A Charming Love Story, 1 75 

The Quaker Soldier. A Revolutionary Romance. By Judge Jones,.... 1 75 
The Man of the World. An Autobiography. By William North,... 1 75 
The Queen’s Favorite ; or. The Price of a Crown. A Love Story,... 1 75 

Self Love; or. The Afternoon of Single and Married Life, 1 75 

Memoirs of Vidocq, the French Detective. His Life and Adventures, 1 75 
Camors. “ The Man of the Second Empire.” By Octave Feuillet,.. 1 7i 
The Belle of Washington. With her Portrait. By Mrs. N. P. Lasselle, 1 75 
Cora Belmont; or. The Sincere Lover. A True Story of the Heart,. 1 76 
The Lover’s Trials; or Days befo»-e 1776. By Mrs. Mary A. Denison, 1 75 
High Life in Washington. A Life Picture. By Mrs. N. P. Lasselle, 1 75 

The Beautiful Widow; or, Lodore. By Mrs. Percy B. Shelley, 1 75 

Love and Money. By J. B. Jones, author of the “ Rival Belles,”... 1 75 
The Matchmaker. A Story of High Life. By Beatrice Reynolds,.. 1 76 
The Brother’s Secret; or, the Count De Mara. By William Godwin, 1 75 
Life, Speeches and Martyrdom of Abraham Lincoln. Illustrated,... 1 76 
Rome and the Papacy. A History of the Men, Manners and Tempo- 
ral Government of Rome in the Nineteenth Century, 1 75 

Above books are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


1^* Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on Receipt of Retail Fricei 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


. S. PSIEESON & BEOTHEES’ PUBLICATIONS. 5 


WOEES BY THE VEEY BEST AUTHOES. 

The following hooka are each issued in one large duudeciiuo volume, 
hound in cloth, at $1.75 each, or each one is in paper cover at $1.50 each. 
Tlie Count of Monte-Cristo. By Alexander Dumas. Illustrated, ...$1 75 
TLie Countess of Monte-Cristo. Paper cover, price $1.00 ; or cloth,.. 1 75 

Citiuille; or, the Fate of a. Coquette. By Alexander Dumas, 1 75 

'J'he Lost Love. By Mrs. Oliphaut, author of “ Margaret Maitland,” 1 75 
The Roman Traitor. By Henry William Herbert. A Roman Story, 1 75 

The Bohemians of London. By Edwai’d M. Whitty, 1 75 

The Rival Belles; or, Life in Washington. By J. B. Jones, 1 75 

Love and Duty. By Mrs. Hubback, author of “ May and December,” 1 75 
Wild Sports and Adventures in Africa. By Major W. C. Harris, 1 75 
Courtship and Matrimony. By Robert Morris. With a Portrait,... 1 75 

The Jealous Husband. By Annette Marie Maillard, 1 75 

'I'lie Refugee. By Herman Melvilie, author of “ Omoo,” Typee,” 1 75 

Tlie Life, Writings, and Lectures of the late “ Fanny Fern,” 1 75 

The Life and Lectures of Lola Montez, with her portrait, 1 75 

Wild Southern Scenes. By author of “Wild Western Scenes,” 1 75 

Currer Lyle ; or, the Autobiography of an Actress. By Louise Reeder. 1 75 

The Cabin and Parlor. By J. Thornton Randolph. Illustrated, 1 75 

The Little Beauty. A Love Story. By Mrs. Grey, 1 75 

Lizzie Glenn ; or, the Trials of a Seamstress. By T. S. Arthur, 1 75 

Lady Maud ; or, the Wonder of Kingswood Chase. By Pierce Egan, 1 75 

Wilfred Montressor ; or. High Life in New York. Illustrated, 1 75 

The Old Stone Mansion, By C. J. Peterson, author “Kate Aylesford,” 1 75 
Kate Aylesford. By Chas. J. Peterson, author “ Old Stone RIansion,”. 1 75 

Lorrimer Littlegood, by author “ Harry Coverdale’s Courtship,” 1 75 

The Earl’s Secret. A Love Story. By Miss Pardoe, 1 75 

The Adopted Heir. By Miss Pardoe, author of “The Earl’s Secret,” 1 75 
Coal, Coal Oil, and all other Minerals in the Earth. By Eli Bowen, 1 75 

Secession, Coercion, and Civil War. By J. B. Jones, 1 75 

Above books are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1 .50 each. 
The Dead Secret. By Wilkie Collins, author “ The Crossed Path,”... 1 60 

The Crossed Path ; or Basil. By Wilkie Collins, 1 60 

Indiana. A Love Story. By George Sand, author of “ Consuelo,” 1 50 
Jealousy ; or, Teverino. By George Sand, author of “ Consuelo,” etc. 1 50 
Six Nights with the Washingtonians, Illustrated, By T. S. Arthur, 3 60 

BOOKS FOR PRIVATE STUDY AND SCHOOLS. 

The Lawrence Speaker. A Selection of Literary Gems in Poetry and 
Prose, designed for the use of Colleges, Schools, Seminaries, Literary 
Societies. By Philip Lawrence, Professor of Elocution. 600 pages..$2 00 
Comstock’s Elocution and Model Speaker. Intended for the use of 
Schools^ Colleges, and for private Study, for the Promotion of 
Health, Cure of Stammering, and Defective Articulation. By An- 
drew Comstock and Philip Lawrence. With 236 Illustrations 2 00 

The French, German. Spanish. Latin and Italian Languages Without 
a Master. Whereby any one of these Languages can be learned 

without a Teacher. By A. H. Monteith. One volume, cloth 2 00 

Comstork’s Colored Chart. Being a perfect Alphabet of the Eng- 
lish Language, Graphic and Typic, with exercises in Pitch, Force 
and Gesture, and Sixty-Eight colored figures, representing the va- 
rious postures and different attitudes to be used in declamation. 

On a large Roller. Every School .should have a copy of it. 5 00 

Liebig’s Complete Works on Chemistry. By Baron Justus Liebig... 2 00 


^ Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on Receipt of Retail Price 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


8 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The following hoohs are each issued in one large duodecimo volume^ 
hound in cloth, at $1.75 each, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

Rose Foster. By George W. M. Reynolds, Esq., $1 75 

The Conscript; or, the Bays of Napoleon 1st. By Ale.\. Dumas,.... I 75 
Cousin Harry. By Mrs. Grey, author of “ The Gambler’s Wife,” etc. 1 75 
Saratoga. An Indian Tale of Frontier Life. A true Story of 1787,.. 1 75 

Married at Last. A Love Stor}-. By Annie Thomas, 1 75 

Shoulder Straps. By Henry Morford, author of “ Days of Shoddy,” 1 75 
Days of Shoddy. By Henry Morford, author of “ Shoulder Straps,” 175 
The Coward. By Henry Morford, author of “ Shoulder Straps,”.... 1 75 
The Cavalier. By G. P. R. James, author of “Lord Montagu’s Page,” 1 75 
Lord Montagu’s Page. By G. P. R. James, author of “ Cavalier,”... 1 75 
Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth’s Popular Novels. 42 vols. in all, 73 50 


Mrs. Ann S. Stephens’ Celebrated Novels. 22 volumes in all, 38 50 

Mrs. C. A. Warfield’s Works. Nine volumes in all, 15 75 

Miss Eliza A. Dupuy’s Works. Fourteen volumes in all, 24 50 

Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz’s Novels. Twelve volumes in all, 21 00 

Frederika Bremer’s Novels. Six volumes in all, 10 50 

T. A. Trollope’s Works. Seven volumes in all, 12 25 

James A. Maitland’s Novels. Seven volumes in all, 12 25 

Q. K. Philander Doestick’s Novels. Four volumes in all, 7 00 

Cook Books. The best in the world. Eleven volumes in all, "9 25 

Mrs. Henry Wood’s Novels. Seventeen volumes in all, 29 75 

Emerson Bennett’s Novels. Seven volumes in all, 12 25 

Green’s Works on Gambling. Four volumes in all, 7 0® 


Above books are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


The following books are each issued in one large octavo volume, bound in 
cloth, at $2.00 each, or each one is done tq) in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

The Wandering Jew. By Eugene Sue. Full of Illustrations, $2 00 

Mysteries of Paris ; and its Sequel, Gerolstein. By Eugene Sue,.... 2 00 

Martin, the Foundling. By Eugene Sue. Full of Illustrations, 2 00 

Ten Thousand a Year. By Samuel Warren. With Illustrations,.... 2 00 

Washington and His Generals. By George Lippard..., 2 00 

The Quaker City; or, the Monks of Monk Hall. By George Lippard, 2 00 

Blanche of Brandywine. By George Lippard, 2 00 

Paul Ardenheim; the Monk of Wissahickon. By George Lippard,. 2 00 

The Pictorial Tower of London. By W. Harrison Ainsworth, 2 50 

Above books are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


TJie following are each issued in one large octavo volume, hound in cloth, price $2.00 
each, or a cheap edition is issued in paper cover, at lb cents each. 


Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dragoon. By Charles Lever, Cloth, $2 00 

Harry Lorrequer. With his Confessions. By Charles Lever,. ..Cloth, 2 00 

Jack Hinton, the Guardsman. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Davenport Dunn. A Man of Our Day. By Charles Lever,. ..Cloth, 2 00 

Tom Burke of Ours. By Charles Lever Cloth, 2 00 

The Knight of Gwynne. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Arthur O’Leary. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Con Cregan. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Horace Templeton. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Kate O'Donoghue. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Valentine Vox, the Ventriloquist. By Harry Cockton Cloth, 2 00 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at 75 cents each. 


1^ Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 7 


NEW AND GOOD BOOKS BY BEST AUTHORS. 

Beautiful Snow, and Other Poems. Neio lUnatrated Edition. By J. 

VV. Watson. With Illustrations by E. L. Henry. One volume, green 
morocco cloth, gilt top, side, and back, price $2.00; or in maroon 

morocco cloth, full gilt edges, full gilt back, full gilt sides, etc., $S 09 

The Outcast, and Other Poems. By J. W. Watson. One volume, 
green morocco cloth, gilt top, side and back, price $2.00; or in ma- 
roon morocco cloth, full gilt edges, full gilt back, full gilt sides, ... 3 00 
The Young Magdalen; and Other Poems. By Francis S. Smith, 
editor of “ The New York Weekly.” With a portrait of the author. 
Complete in one large volume of 300 pages, bound in green mo- 
rocco cloth, gilt top, side, and back, price $3.00; or in maroon 
morocco cloth, full gilt edges, full gilt back, full gilt sides, etc...... 4 00 

Hans Breitmann’s Ballads. By Charles G. Leland. Volume One. Con- 


taining the “ Firat,” ‘^Second ” and “ Third Series’* of the Breit- 

mann Ballads,” bound in morocco cloth, gilt, beveled boards, 3 00 

Hans Breitmann’s Ballads. By Charles G. Leland. Volume Two. 
Containing the ‘‘Fourth” and “Fifth Series” of the “ Breitmann 

Ballads,” bound in morocco cloth, gilt, beveled boards, 2 00 

Hans Breitmann’s Ballads. By Charles G. Leland. Being the above 
two volumes complete in one. In one large volume, bound in 
morocco cloth, gilt side, gilt top, and full gilt back, with beveled 

boards. With a full and complete Glossary to the whole work, 4 00 

Meister Karl’s Sketch Book. By Charles G. Leland, (Hans Breit- 
mann.) Complete in one volume, green morocco cloth, gilt side, 
gilt top, gilt back, with beveled boards, price $2.50, or in maroon 

morocco cloth, full gilt edges, full gilt back, full gilt sides, etc., 3 50 

Historical Sketches of Plymouth, Luzerne Co., Penna. By Hendrick 

B. Wright, of Wilkesbarre. With Twenty-five Photographs, 4 00 

John Jasper’s Secret. A Sequel to Charles Dickens’ “Mystery of 

Edwin Drood.” With 18 Illustrations. Bound in cloth, 2 00 

The Last Athenian. From the Swedish of Victor Rydberg. Highly 
recommended by Fredrika Bremer. Paper $1.50, cr in cloth, 2 00 


Across the Atlantic. Letters from France, Switzerland, Germany, 

Italy, and England. By C. H. Haeseler, M.D. Bound in cloth,... 2 00 
The Ladies’ Guide to True Politeness and Perfect Manners. By 
Miss Leslie. Every lad}' should h.ave it. Cloth, full gilt back,... 1 75 
The Ladies’ Complete Guide to Needlework and Embroidery. With 

113 illustrations. By Miss Lambert. Cloth, full gilt back, 1 75 

The Ladies’ Work Table Book. With 27 illustrations. Cloth, gilt,. 1 50 
The Story of Elizabeth. By Miss Thackera.y, paper $1.00, or cloth,.., 1 50 
Dow’s Short Patent Sermons. By Dow, Jr. In 4 vols., cloth, each.... 1 50 
Wild Oats Sown Abroad. A Spicy Book. By T. B. Witmer, cloth,... 1 50 
Aunt Patty’s Scrap Bag. By Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz, author of 

“ Linda,” etc. Full of Illustrations, and bound in cloth, 1 50 

Hollick’s Anatomy and Physiology of the Human Figure. Illustrated 
by a perfect dissected plate of the Human Organization, and by 
other separate plates of the Human Skeleton, such as Arteries, 

Veins, the Heart, Lungs, Trachea, etc. Illustrated. Bound, 2 00 

Life and Adventures of Don Quixote dnd his Squire Sancho Panza, 
complete in one large volume, paper cover, for $1.00, or in cloth,.. 1 75 
The Laws and Practice of the Game of Euchre, as adopted by the 

Euchre Club of Washington, D. C. Bound in cloth,.... 1 00 

Riddell’s Model Architect. With 22 large full page colored illus- 
trations, and 44 plates of ground plans, with plans, specifications, 
costs of building, etc. One large quarto volume, bound, $15 00 

Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail PrlCfi* 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa* 


8 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS^ PUBLICATIONS, 


NEW AND GOOD BOOKS BY BEST AUTHORS. 

Treason at Home. A Novel. By Mrs. Greenough, cloth, $1 75 

Letters from Europe. By Colonel John W. Forney. Bound in cloth, 1 7-'> 

Frank Fairleigh. By author of “ Lewis Arundel,” cloth, 1 75 

Lewis Arundel. By author of “Frank Fairleigh,” cloth, 1 75 

Moore’s Life of Hon. Schuyler Colfax, with a Portrait on steel, cloth, 1 5(1 

Whitefriars; or. The Days of Charles the Second. Illustrated, 1 00 

Tan-go-ru-a. An Historical Drama, in Prose. By Mr. Moorhead,.... 1 00 

The Impeachment Trial of President Andrew Johnson. Cloth, 1 50 

Trial of the Assassins for the Murder of Abraham Lincoln. Cloth,,.. 1 50 
Lives of Jack Sheppard and Guy Fawkes, Illustrated. One vol., cloth, 1 75 

Consuelo, and Countess of Rudolstadt. One volume, cloth, 2 00 

Monsieur Antoine. By George Sand. Illustrated. One vol,, cloth, 1 00 
Aurora Floyd. By Miss Braddon. One vol., paper 75 cents, cloth,... 1 00 
Christy and White’s Complete Ethiopian Melodies, bound in cloth,... 1 00 

The Life of Charles Dickens. By R. Shelton Mackenzie, cloth, 2 00 

The Life of Edwin Forrest; with Reminiscences and Personal Recol- 
lections. By Colley Cibber. With a Portrait and Autograph, 2 00 

Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott. One 8vo. volume, fine binding, 5 00 
Life of Sir Walter Scott. By John G. Lockhart. With Portrait...... 2 50 

The Shakspeare Novels. Complete in one large octavo volume, cloth, 4 00 
Miss Pardoe’s Choice Novels. In one large octavo volume, cloth,... 4 00 
The Waverley Novels. National Edition. Five large 8vo. vols., cloth, 15 00 
Charles Dickens’ Works. People's \2mo. Edition. 22 vols., cloth, 34 00 
Charles Dickens’ Works. Green Cloth \2mo. Edition. 22 vols., cloth, 44 00 
Charles Dickens’ Works. Illustrated 12/wo. Edition. 36 vols., cloth, 55 00 
Charles Dickens’ Works. Illustrated 8vo. Edition. 18 vols., cloth, 31 50 
Charles Dickens’ Works. New National Edition. 7 volumes, cloth, 20 00 

HUMOROUS ILLUSTRATED WORKS. 

Each one is full of Illustrations, hy Felix 0. C. Barley, and bound in Cloth. 

Major Jones’ Courtship and Travels. With 21 Illustrations, $1 75 

Major Jones’ Scenes in Georgia. With 16 Illustrations, 1 76 

Simon Suggs’ Adventures and Travels. With 17 Illustrations, 1 75 

Swamp Doctor’s Adventures in the South-West. 14 Illustrations,... 1 75 

Col. Thorpe’s Scenes in Arkansaw. With 16 Illustrations, 1 75 

The Big Bear’s Adventures and Travels. With 18 Illustrations, 1 75 

High Life in New York, by Jonathan Slick. With Illustrations,.... 1 75 

Judge Haliburton’s Yankee Stories. Illustrated, 1 75 

Harry Coverdale’s Courtship and Marriage. Illustrated, 1 75 

Piney Wood’s Tavern; or, Sam Slick in Texas. Illustrated, 1 75 

Sam Slick, the Clockmaker. By Judge Haliburton. Illustrated,... 1 75 
Humors of Falconbridge. By J. F. Kelley. With Illustrations, ... 1 75 

Modern Chivalry. By Judge Breckenridge. Two vols., each 1 75 

Neal’s Charcoal Sketches. By Joseph C. Neal. 21 Illustrations,... 2 50 

MADAME GEORGE SAND’S WORKS. 

Consuelo, 12mo., cloth, $1 50| Jealousy, 12mo. cloth, $1 50 

Countess of Rudolstadt, 1 50 1 Indiana, 12mo., cloth, 1 50 

Above are only published in 12mo., cloth, gilt side and back. 

Fanchon, the Cricket, price $1.00 in paper, or in cloth, 1 50 

First and True Love, 75 | The Corsair, 50 

Simon. A Love Story, 50 | The Last Aldini, !.*!!.*.*.'.* 50 

Monsieur Antoine. With 11 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents ; cloth, 1 00 
Consuelo and Countess of Rudolstadt, octavo, cloth, 2 00 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETESSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. » 


DUMAS’, REYNOLDS’, AND OTHER BOOKS IN CLOTH. 

The following are cloth editions of the following good books, and they art 
each issued in one large volume, hound in cloth, price $1.76 each. 

The Three Guardsmen ; or. The Three Mousquetaires. By A. Dumas, $1 75 
Twenty Years After; or the Second Series of Three Guardsmen,”... 1 75 
Branjelonne; Son of Athos ; or “ Third Series of Three Guardsmen,” 1 75 
The Iron Mask ; or the ^‘Fourth Series of The Three Guardsmen,”..., 1 fB 
Louise La Valliere; or the “Fifth Series and End of the Three 

Guardsmen Series,” 1 75 

The Memoirs of a Physician. By Alexander Dumas. Illustrated,... 1 75 
Queen’s Necklace; or “ Second Series of Memoirs of a Physician,” 1 75 
Six Years Later; or the “ Third Series of Memoirs of a Physician,” 1 75 
Countess of Charny ; or “Fourth Series of Memoirs of a Physician,” 1 75 
Andree De Taverney; or “Fifth Series of Memoirs of a Physician,” 1 75 
The Chevalier; or the NfcctA Series and End of the Memoirs of a 


Physician Series,” 1 75 

The Adventures of a Marquis. By Alexander Dumas 1 75 

Edmond Dantes. A Sequel to the “ Count of Monte-Cristo,” 1 75 


The Forty-Five Guardsmen. By Alexander Dumas. Illustrated,... 1 75 
Diana of Meridor, or Lady of Monsoreau. By Alexander Dumas,... 1 75 
The Iron Hand. By Alex. Dumas, author “Count of Monte-Cristo," 1 75 
The Mysteries of the Court of London. By George W. M. Reynolds, 1 75 
Rose Foster; or the “Second Series of Mysteries of Court of London,” 1 75 
Caroline of Brunswick; or the “ Third Series of the Court of London,” 1 75 
Venetia Trelawney; or “End of the Mysteries of the Court of London,” 1 75 


Lord Saxondale; or the Court of Queen Victoria. By Rejmolds, 1 75 

Count Christoval. Sequel to “ Lord Saxondale." By Reynolds, 1 75 


Rosa Lambert; or Memoirs of an Unfortunate Woman. By Reynolds, 1 75 
JMary Price; or the Adventures of a Servant Maid. By Reynolds,... 1 75 
Eustace Quentin. Sequel to “ Mary Price." By G. W. M. Reynolds, 1 75 
Joseph Wilmot; or the Memoirs of a Man Servant. By Reynolds,... 1 75 


Banker’s Daughter. Sequel to “Joseph Wilmot." By Reynolds, 1 75 

Kenneth. A Romance of the Highlands. By G. W. M. Reynolds, 1 75 

Ryc-House Plot; or the Conspirator’s Daughter. By Reynolds, 1 75 

Necromancer ; or the Times of Henry the Eighth. By Reynolds, 1 75 


Within the Maze. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “East Lynne,". ] 75 
Dene Hollow. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “Within the Maze," 1 75 
Bessy Rane. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ The Channings,".... 1 75 
George Canterbury’s Will. By Mrs. Wood, author “Oswald Cray,” 1 75 
The Channings. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ Dene Hollow,"... 1 75 


Roland Yorke. A Sequel to “ The Channings." By Mrs. Wood, 1 75 

Shadow of Ashlydyatt. By' Mrs. Wood, author of “ Bessy Rane," 1 75 


Lord Oakburn’s Daughters ; or The Earl’s -Heirs. By Mrs. Wood,... 1 75 
Verner’s Pride. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “The Channings," 1 75 
The Castle’s Heir; or Lady Adelaide’s Oath. By Mrs. Henry Wood, 1 75 
Oswald Cray. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ Roland Yorke,".... 1 75 

Squire Trovlyn’s Heir ; or Trevlyn Hold. By Mrs. Henry Wood, 1 75 

The Red Court Farm. By Mrs. Wood, author of “Verner’s Pride,’’... 1 75 
Ulster’s Folly. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ Castle’s Heir,"... 1 75 
St. Martin’s Eve. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “Dene Hollow," 1 75 
Mildred Arkell. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “East Lynne,".... 1 75 
Cyrilla; ortho Mysterious Engagement. By author of “ Initials,” 1 75 

The Miser’s Daughter. By William Harrison Ainsworth, 1 75 

The Mysteries of Florence. By Geo. Lippard, author “Quaker City," 1 75 


Above Books will be sent, postag’e paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa, 


12 T. B, PETEESON & BEOTHEES’ PTJBIICATIONS. 


ALEXANDEE DTTMAS’ WOEKS. 


Count of Monte-Cristo,... 

$1 50 

Memoirs of a Physician, 

...$1 

00 

Edmond Dantes, 


Queen’s Necklace, 

... 1 

00 

The Three Guardsmen,... 


Six Years Later, 

... 1 

00 

Twenty Years After, 

75 

Countess of Charn 3 ', 

... 1 

00 

Bragelonne, 


Andree de Taverney, 

... 1 

00 

The Iron Mask, 

1 00 

The Chevalier, 

... 1 

00 

Louise La N^alliere, 

1 00 

Forty-five Guardsmen, 

... 1 

00 

Diana of Meridor, 

1 00 

The Iron Hand, 

... 1 

CO 

Adventures of a Marquis, 

1 00 

The Conscript, 

... 1 

5 » 

Love and Liberty, (1792- 

’93).. 1 50 

Countess of Monte-Cristo,... 

... 1 

00 

Camille; or. The Fate of a Coquette, (La Dame Aux Camelias,)... 

... 1 

50 


The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 


The Mohicans of Paris, 75 

The Horrors of Paris, 75 

The Fallen Angel, 75 

Felina de Chaiiibure, 75 

Sketches in France, 75 

Isabel of Bavaria, 75 

Twin Lieutenants, 75 

Man with Five Wives, 75 


Annette} or. Lady of Pearls,... 75 

George } or. Isle of France, 60 

Madame De Chamblay 50 

The Black Tulip 50 

The Corsican Brothers, 50 

The Count of Moret,..., 50 

The Marriage Verdict, 50 

Buried Alive, 25 


GEORGE W. M. REYNOLDS’ WORKS. 


Mysteries Court of London, .‘...$1 00 

Rose Foster, 1 50 

Caroline of Brunswick, 1 00 

Venetia Trelawney, 1 00 

Lord Saxondale, 1 00 

Count Christoval, 1 00 

Rosa Lambert, 1 00 

Wallace, the Hero of Scotland,. 1 00 

The Mysteries of the Court of Naples, full of Illustrations 
Robert Bruce, the Hero-King of Scotland, full of Illustrations, 


$l 

1 

I 

1 

1 


Mary Price, 

Eustace Quentin, 

Joseph Wilmot., 

Banker’s Daughter, 

Kenneth, 

The Rye-House Plot, 1 

The Necromancer, 1 

The Gipsy Chief, 1 

.. 1 

,. 1 


00 

00 

00 

00 

00 

00 

00 

00 

00 

Ofl 


The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 


Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots,.. 75 

The Opera Dancer, 75 

Child of Waterloo, 75 

Isabella Vincent, 75 

Vivian Bertram, 75 

Countess of Lascelles, 75 

Duke of Marchmont, 75 

Massacre of Glencoe, 75 

Loves of the Harem, 75 

The Soldier’s Wife, 75 


Ellen Percy, 75 

Agnes Evelyn, 75 

Pickwick Abroad, 75 

Parricide, 75 

Discarded Queen, 75 

Life in Paris, 50 

The Countess and the Page,.... 50 

Edgar Montrose, 50 

The Ruined Gamester, 50 

Clifford and the Actress, 60 


May Middleton, 75 

Ciprina; or, the Mysteries and Secrets of a Picture Gallery, 50 

MISS PARDOE’S POPULAR WORKS. 

Confessions ofa PrettyWoman, 75 The Rival Beauties, 75 

The Wife’s Trials, 75 Romance of the Harem, 75 

The Jealous Wife, 60 

The five above books are also bound in one volume, cloth, for $4.00 

The Adopted Heir. One volume, paper, $1.50; or in cloth, $1 75 

The Earl’s Secret. One volume, paper, $1.50} or in cloth, 1 75 


1^* Above books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 13 


CHARLES LEVER’S BEST WORKS. 


Arthur O’Leary, 

Con Cregan, 

Davenport Dunn,.... 
Horace Templeton,. 


Charles O’Malley, 75 

H.irry Lorrequer, 75 

Jack Hinton, 75 

Tom Burke of Ours, 75 

Knight of Gwynne, 75 Kate O’Donoghue,. 

Above are in paper cover, or a fine edition is in cloth at $2.00 each. 

A Rent in a Cloud, 50 ] St. Patrick’s Eve, 

Ten Thousand a Year, in one volume, paper cover, $1.50 ; or in cloth, 2 
The Diary of a Medical Student, by author “ Ten Thousand a Year,” 

MRS. HENRY WOOD’S BEST BOOKS. 


< o 
75 
75 
75 
75 


50 

ca 

75 


The Master of Greylands, $1 50 

Wiihin the Maze, 1 50 

Dene Hollow, 1 50 

Bessy Rane 1 60 

George Canterbury’s Will, 1 50 

Veruer’s Pride, 1 50 

The Channings, 1 50 

Roland Yorke. A Sequel to “ The Channings,” 1 

Lord Oakburn’s Daughters; or. The Earl’s Heirs, 1 

The Castle’s Heir ; or, Lady Adelaide’s Oath, 1 

The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 


The Shadow of Ashlydyat, $I 

Squire Trevlyu’s Heir, 1 

Oswald Cray, , 1 

Mildred Arkell, 1 

The Red Court Farm, 1 

Lister’s Folly, 1 

Saint Martin’s Eve, 1 


The Mystery, 

... 75 

A Life’s Secret, 

The Lost Bank Note, 

... 50 

The Haunted Tower 

The Lost Will, 

... 50 

The Runaway Match, 

Martyn Ware’s Temptations,.. 

Orville College, 

50 

Five Thousand a Year, 

... 25 

The Dean of Denham, 

The Diamond Bracelet 

... 25 

Foggy Night at Oflford, 

Clara Lake’s Dream, 

... 25 

William Allair 

The Nobleman’s Wife, 

... 25 

A Light and a Dark Christm.ns, 

Frances Hildyanl, 

... 25 

The Smuggler’s Ghost, 


50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

bii 

2» 

2i 

25 

26 
2? 
25 
25 


EUGENE SUE’S GREAT WORKS. 


First Love 

Woman’s Love, 

Female Bluebeard,.. 
Man-of-War’s-Man,. 


The Wandering Jew, $l 501 

The Mysteries of Paris, 1 50 

Martin, the Foundling, 1 50 

Above are in cloth at $2.00 each. 

Life and Adventures of Raoul de Surville. A Tale of the Empire,... 

CHARLES J. PETERSON’S WORKS. 

The Old Stone Mansion, $1 50 I Kate Aylesford, $1 

The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 


Grace Dudley; or, Arnold at 
Saratoga, 


Cruising in the Last War 75 

Valley Farm, 25 

WILLIAM H. MAXWELL’S WORKS. 

Wild Sports of the West, 75 | Brian O’Lynn, 

Stories of Waterloo, 75 


MISS 

Aurora Floyd 

Aurora Floyd, cloth 


Life of Grace O'Malley,. 

BRADDON’S WORKS. 


75 

00 


The Lawyer’.® Secret 

For Better, For Worse,, 


50 

50 

50 

50 

25 


50 


50 


75 

50 


25 

75 


Above books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt ot Retail Prica 
by T B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadolphia, Pe. 


B ^ a yULLnBl ^LilSLO 


OP aOOD NOVPLS, AEE THE BEST, LAE&EST, 
AND CHEAPEST BOOHS IN THE WORLD. 

Price One l>ollar Each, in Cloth, Black and Gold* 

A WOMAN'S THOUGHTS ABOUT WOMEN. By Miss Mulock. 
ROSE DOUGLAS. The Bonnie Scotch Lass. A Love Story. 

THE EARL’S SECRET. A Charming Love Story. By Miss Pardoe. 
FAMILY SECRETS. A Companion to “ Family Pride.” 

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THE HEIRESS OF SWEETWATER. An Exciting Love Story. 
THE LOVER’S TRIALS. By Mrs. Mary A. Denison. 

THE PRIDE OF LIFE. A Love Story. By Lady Jane Scott. 
CORA BELMONT ; or, The Sincere Lover. 

TWO WAYS TO MATRIMONY ; or, Is It Love, or. False Pride? 
LOST SIR MASSINGBERD. James Payn’s Best Book. 

THE CLYFFARDS OF CLYFFE. By James Payn. 

THE RIVAL BELLES; or. Life in Washington. By J. B. Jones. 
THE REFUGEE. By the author of “ Omoo,” “ Typee,” etc. 

OUT OF THE DEPTHS. The Story of a Woman’s Life. 

THE MATCHMAKER. A Society Novel. By Beatrice Reynolds. 
AUNT PATTY’S SCRAP BAG. By Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz. 

THE STORY OF “ELIZABETH.” By Miss Thackeray. 
FLIRTATIONS IN FASHIONABLE LIFE. By Catharine Sinclair. 
THE HEIRESS IN THE FAMILY. By Mrs. Mackenzie Daniels. 
LOVE AND DUTY. A Love Story. By Mrs. Hubback. 

THE COQUETTE ; or. The Life and Letters of Eliza Wharton. 
SELF-LOVE. A Book for Young Ladies and for Women. 

THE DEVOTED BRIDE. By St. George Tucker, of Virginia. 

THE MAN OF THE WORLD. By William North. 

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THE QUEEN’S FAVORITE; or, The Price of a Crown. 

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COLLEY CIBBER’S LIFE OF EDWIN FORREST, with Portrait. 
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HAREM LIFE IN EGYPT AND CONSTANTINOPLE. 

THE OLD PATROON; or, The Great Van Bro^^k Property. 

THE MACDERMOTS OF BA.LLY0L0RAN. By Anthony Trollope. 
THE CAVALIER. By G. P. R. James. MY SON’S WIFE. 

A LONELY LIFE. TREASON AT HOME. PANOLA! 

71^^ For sale hy all Booksellers and News Agents, and puhlishrd by 

T. B. PETEKSON & BIIOTBEPS, PL Ltdeipliiii. 


Cheapist Book Houss in tee Wcbui 

Is at the Publishing and Bookselling Establishment of 

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Uo. 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 

T. B. PETKRSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, are the American publishers ot 
tlie popular and fast-selling books Avritten by Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Sovtiiworth, 
Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, Mrs. Caroline Lee Hi ntz, Miss Eliza A. Pupuy, Mrs C. 
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Arthur, (.iEorot Lippard, Hans Breitmann (Charles G. Leland), James A. Mait- 
land, Charles Dickens, Sir Walter Scott, Charles Lever, Wilkie Collins, 
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of works of Action ever pnblislied, rebnnng at 25 cents, 50 cents, 75 cents, Sfl .00, S’l .50, 
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T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS. TT:iiltshers, 

30t) ClIESTNl’T STUI-.KT, Pi 1 1 LA D I :LT>n I A , Pa, 


MYETLE LAWU. 


A NOVEL. 



BY KOBEET E. BALLAED. 


An attractive and well-written American novel is acceptable at all times, 
particularly when it comes from a pen, which, whether practised or not, 
nas undoubtedly been used by the hand of a man of genius — one of the 
class who, as Dr. Johnson tersely said, once upon a time, sat down not to 
think what he should write, but to write what he deeply thought. “ Myr- 
tle Lawn,’’ by Robert E. Ballard, is an American romance of real life — 
a story almost of the present, so near to our time do the incidents occur. 
It is dedicated to Gid Branch Alston, Esq., of North Carolina, to which 
State the author belongs. The narrative may be said to open in Mexico, 
with the history of a patriotic family there, to which Nora Lavine, one of 
the heroines of the tale, belongs by descent. The home-scenes of this 
romance, which are admirably presented, take place in a beautiful village 
in Maryland, in which three families reside, respectively named Melton, 
Evarts, and Lavine. The heads of these families are respectively two mer- 
chant princes, and Mrs. Lavine, the widow of a Colonel in the Confederate 
army. There are two sons, Henry Melton and Horace Evarts, who form 
deep attachments to Jeannette Evarts and Nora Lavine. But, as “the 
course of true love never yet ran smooth,” the elder Mr. Melton, who has 
very ambitious views for his son, forbids him to associate any longer with 
Miss Evarts, whom he has known since childhood, and the younger Mr. 
Evarts, having become jealous of Nora Lavine, leaves his native land in 
despair, and joins the Spanish army, then engaged in civil war, and greatly 
distinguishes himself in actual conflict. It was a villain of the darkest dye 
who had managed with great ingenuity to make appearances seem heavy 
against the young lady. Overtaken, at last, in his villainy, and the victim 
of remorse on his death-bed, this man makes a full confession which, clear- 
ing her, restores her lover, and the late repentance of Mr. Melton permits 
his son to wed the lady of his love, thereby giving a charming daughter to 
himself. The death-bed repentance and confession of MacKenzie, the vil- 
lain of the story, is a very truthful and terrible piece of writing, powerful 
in its tragic force. But the crowning merit of “ Myrtle Lawn” will be 
found, or criticism greatly errs, in the description of a battle-scene in Spain, 
during the Carlist war. It is a panoramic painting in words, such as Scott 
or Macaulay might have dashed off in a happy hour of literarv excitement. 
There is nothing of the sort finer in modern fiction. The dialogues and 
correspondence in this tale are admirable, and the author’s stream of nar- 
rative is at once clear, strong, and rapid. — Critic. 


One Volume, Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. Price $1.50. 


‘^Myrtle Lawn ” is printed on tinted paper ^ and is issued in a larye 
duodecimo volume, and is for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, 
and on all Rail Road Trains, price $1.50 a copy, or copies will be sent to 
any place, to any one, at once, per first mail, post-paid, on remitting $1.50 
in a letter to the Publishers, 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

300 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa, 





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